


Dealing with Facades

by MaidintheNorth



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2018-10-22 00:09:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 37
Words: 54,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10685730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaidintheNorth/pseuds/MaidintheNorth
Summary: Green as her native county and running from a heartache she doesn't know she suffered Delia Busby arrives at the London Hospital to train as a nurse. There she meets the cold, aloof, but vulnerable, Patsy Mount. This is their story....





	1. New Winds

**Author's Note:**

> I'm new(ish) to Call the Midwife and totally new to this writing about it lark. I recognise that the start of Delia and Patsy's relationship, having not been shown on screen, is likely to be a rich seam to mine and I am hoping it isn't entirely exhausted. If you read this and want to give me some constructive criticism I'm sure I can take it and use it! Thanks to ThinkBusbyThink for Convergence which effectively inspired my own take on the Pupcake story but this is my telling.

Chapter One: New Winds

The woman sat on the bridge drew up on her legs until she could rest her chin on the cleft between her knees, to where her sunshine yellow skirt folded over itself, her arms pulled her lower limbs into a familiar, childlike position. Beneath her the brook wrestled with itself, turning its tiny eddies and bubbles over and over in a constant losing battle with the inexorable flow downstream. The small, dark haired woman closed her eyes against the fight, preferring simply to listen - a concerted attempt to empty her mind. In the next field, the sheep, separated from the farm track by the stream and tangled hawthorn, called to one another and in the stillness was the insistent tug and chew of the animals’ grazing. Despite herself the woman smiled. Her heart was heavy and anxiety gnawed at her chest but the weak evening sunlight was comforting as she enjoyed the familiar sounds of her childhood a final time. 

‘Delia?’

The woman’s eyes fluttered open, unaccustomed, even after those few moments, to the light. She tried to focus on the young man on the bridge, his cap clasped awkwardly between his large callused hands scuffing his toe into the dust beneath his large boots. 

‘Gareth, I didn’t expect to see you tonight.’ Delia’s soft Welsh lilt was tight, it sounded unnatural and the man winced as he realised Delia felt ambushed. 

‘I just wanted to say goodbye. Properly’ 

Delia cocked her head slightly, a question in the movement; her bright blue eyes opened wider, looked directly at their target. Gareth shifted again, his right hand brought up to his cheek and rubbing against sandy stubble as he looked intently at the centre stone of the bridge beneath Delia’s curved figure. He focused on the hem of Delia’s skirt as it hung limply over the side of the stone work. Silence hung a moment more before Gareth spoke again. 

‘You know I always thought.’ He hesitated. A lump forming in his throat. ‘I always thought we’d just end up courting. Ever since school. Even before, see? And now you’re leaving. It isn’t fair Delia. Our mams have always said we’d be good. I have a job on the farm. Prospects even. And, and, well, you always said you liked my hair. Even when I got called carrot head. You said, Delia. I always thought. It ain’t fair.’ 

His words tumbled out, tripping over themselves in half constructed utterances and bitter disappointment. When he had arrived, interrupting her reverie, Delia had felt little but irritation but now she found her eyes brimming with tears. She swung her legs around and moved to him. Gently she placed her fingers on his hand where it had returned to worry the cap. 

‘I’m sorry. Truly. But I have been fair. Always. I haven’t ever given you a reason to think that. You’re my one true friend here, apart from Gwen, don’t let’s part on bad terms.’

Gareth nodded, collecting himself, even managing a weak smile. He swallowed hard before he trusted himself. He forced his voice to be light.

‘Sometimes I think you prefer my silly sister to me Delia Busby – I bet you’ve said so long to her before you disappear off to be Florence Nightingale.’

Delia pressed her lips together until the pink showed white around the edges. How could she tell this proud, handsome man before her that saying goodbye to his twin was the one thing she didn’t feel she could cope with. Delia was tough. Emotionally resilient. The last few months of attrition with her indefatigable mother had proved that; she had weathered nightly lectures about the evils of London, the evils of the English, even the evils of nursing. Delia wasn’t quite sure how a profession she saw as noble, selfless and rewarding could have become so tarnished in her mother’s eyes but there was no doubt that Norah Busby did not approve of her daughter’s plans. However, it all paled in comparison to losing her best friend. Delia pictured her and smiled at Gareth. He was so like her in so many ways; tall, broad, with an unruly mop of ginger hair which neither of them bothered to tame. Delia quelled the tide of emotion that threatened to overwhelm her. 

‘No cariad, she was out with Joe Taylor tonight. He’s taken her for a fish supper. I reckon the next time I see Gwen I might be a bridesmaid.’ 

‘Or a godmother’ muttered Gareth, darkly. ‘I don’t like him much, see. He has too much of the swagger about him to be courting my sister.’ 

‘No arguments here.’ Delia’s chest clenched. She didn’t really know why the thought of Joe Taylor made ice inch across her skin until it pimpled in revulsion but she knew in her heart that she had lost her closest friend to the next stage in her life. Where Delia saw an arrogant chancer, Gwen saw husband material. It was time for Delia to move on too. The weathercock was spinning and Delia knew she needed a new direction before she found herself living a life she had promised she would escape. 

‘You’ll write to me won’t you, from that London?’ 

Gareth’s voice was soft, almost pleading, and Delia smiled up at him. Her dimples made his stomach turn over and he gave another weak smile as she answered and he gazed at her lips. 

‘Of course I will. I’ll tell you all my news. Though I promise to leave out the bits about bedpans. Come on Gareth Jones, I’ll let you walk me home.’

Delia looked back at the patchwork of fields, hemmed by miles of dark green hedgerow. Above her a curlew piped out its evening song on the way to the coast. She wondered for a moment what birds, if any, she would hear on Whitechapel Road. She glanced at her small wristwatch; in exactly 24 hours she would know the answer to that question.  
 


	2. Just Landed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introductions are made and Delia begins to recognise that she might not fit in. Despite this, some are more taken with her openness than others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have, following advice, tried to be a little more succinct than originally planned and I hope it works better for it. I don't do brief well at the best of times so this is only a little shorter than the first chapter. A little research on nursing in the 50s is hopefully going to go a long way but I have had to use some dramatic license about what the environs of the London and the teaching spaces might have been like.

Delia stole a glance around the room from her position at the end of a row of highly uncomfortable chairs. She judged there was around 30 girls, roughly about eighteen, nineteen or twenty but some a few years older. Most looked utterly self-possessed but a couple of faces belied the same terror that Delia herself was feeling. She dragged her attention back to the Home Matron whose clipped tones were rapping out instruction after instruction at the front of the large room.

‘Tomorrow we begin at 7am. In here after breakfast which will be served in the refectory where you will also receive your evening meal. And so gals, the next nine weeks will be the hardest of your life. Make no mistake. Only those with the proper mindset and mentality will succeed. I don’t expect any failures because I know that you have the proper mindset and mentality to not only survive, but to thrive.’

Delia noticed, with some amusement, the face of the tall, blonde girl sitting to her left who at the statement that these were to be the hardest days of her life had flared her nostrils and given an almost imperceptible shake of the head. A low hum of chatter had invaded the room at the cessation of the lecture and Delia seized the opportunity to be friendly. She leaned over, proffering her right hand. 

‘Delia Busby, just landed from deepest Pembroke, and quite frankly, terrified.’

The woman beside her stiffened. Nodded. The handshake, when it came, was brief and firm. The reply even briefer. 

‘Patience Mount.’ 

Delia gave a warm laugh. 

‘I’m not sure you were well named Patience Mount, you strike me as somebody who doesn’t suffer fools very gladly at all.’

Patience Mount was utterly disarmed. Her eyes widened and she turned her gaze fully on the girl sitting smiling beside her, eyebrows still arched. After nearly two decades of deference and society reserve she wasn’t sure how to react to the open, guileless smile and earnest tone. Absolutely despite herself she discovered she wasn’t irritated by the apparent impertinence but rather impressed. 

‘Don’t worry too much about it, everybody calls me Patsy anyway.’ 

‘That’s pretty. It suits you.’ 

Patsy’s eyes widened again. Her eyebrows, shaped and darker than the mass of straight blonde hair pinned and lacquered in a quiffed bun that bordered on the bouffant, were raised again. For the first time Delia stumbled. 

‘Sorry, my mouth runs away with me sometimes, I just meant, well, you look sort of effortlessly stylish and Patsy sounds sort of effortlessly glamorous.’

Delia noted with relief that Patsy smiled, her right lip curled up as if a tiny fish hook had tugged at her cheek and the ghost of a dimple appeared. Delia became acutely aware of her diminutive stature at that precise moment as Patsy stood upright, Delia followed suite and suddenly they were surrounded by a gaggle of other women. All of whom, thought Delia, seemed to be at least a head higher. She mused if this was a requirement of nursing she had somehow failed to discern in all her months of research and applications. Perhaps it was a feature of the wicked English as so vividly delineated by her mother’s Presbyterian imagination. 

‘Well that was frightfully dull – I’m gasping for a cigarette and some fresh air’ said another blonde girl with an effortless grace that Delia envied instantly. A short laugh came from beside Delia as another young woman spoke, another cut glass RP accent. 

‘I’m not sure those two things are natural bedfellows Jeanie, but I’ll happily join you if you want to explore the grounds before supper.’

‘You know what I mean Virginia. Anybody else coming?’ asked Jeanie, already headed for the swing doors of the large classroom. Patsy nodded her assent and fell in behind Jeanie and Virginia. She turned to Delia.

‘Fancy a smoke?’ 

‘I don’t smoke actually but I would love to see the grounds, I feel as though I have been cooped up like a chicken all day.’

Patsy smiled, there is was again she noted as they began walking; that easy, self-deprecation. 

‘I wouldn’t worry about being terrified, from what the Home Matron was saying the next few weeks will be full of sewing, cleaning and listening. I’m not sure there’s too much to be frightened of there.’

Delia groaned, earning another lop-sided smile from the taller woman. As Delia next spoke Jeanie and Virginia exchanged a horrified look but Patsy let out a hearty chuckle.

‘You haven’t seen me with a needle and thread. For a draper’s daughter it’s shameful. I sometimes wonder if I were the milkman’s.’


	3. Purple Passions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delia gets to grips with life at the London. With a little help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the encouragement thus far. It's nice to know some people are reading and even nicer to know it's being enjoyed!

Delia’s cornflower blue eyes scanned the blackboard for her name; chalked up next to ‘Uniforms: Sewing Room’ in a neat cursive script were ‘Tredway’ ‘Busby’ ‘Hansom-Strickland’ and ‘Mount.’ She allowed her mouth to curve into a smile as she remembered the shocked look on Patience Mount’s face the evening before. She made a mental note to be less garrulous but was pleased to see a familiar name on her set list. She headed off in what she hoped to be the direction of the correct room. She was confident she had seen a brown plaque with faux gold lettering screwed to a door indicating the sewing room the previous night when she had bid her fellow trainees goodnight. She had extricated herself from the noisy chatter of the recreation room and padded down the endless corridors which stretched above the east wing of the London hospital. She was tired and wanted to pen a first letter to her mother, recounting the events of her journey to London and to send reassurance that she had not, as yet, succumbed to any of the inevitable ills of London life. 

Now, flooded with early morning September sunlight, the corridors seemed larger and Delia felt distinctly unsure of her direction of travel. Nearby she could hear the laughter and chatter of other young women but she was so alone that she noticed the slight squeak of her new black lace ups on the polished linoleum floor. Without warning a door opened ahead of her; from a tributary corridor to this main artery through the training building, the tall, statuesque figure of Patsy Mount emerged. She was busily smoothing down the white blouse precisely tucked into a pair of elegant slacks. Delia called after her, relieved in the knowledge they were both heading for the same place. 

‘Patience Mount?’ 

Irritated by the uncertain tremor in her voice Delia hoped that Patsy would simply take it as a signal that she was unsure of the name after only one meeting rather than betraying the fact that, entirely uncharacteristically, Delia was rather over-whelmed by the self-possessed confidence projected in every mannerism of the older woman. It wasn’t the obvious gulf in their social class that bothered Delia - she had long since decided through voracious digestion of novels and various political works that class was a pointless construct and in the exciting post-war world anybody who clung to those archaic notions was an endangered species. There was something else about Patsy that Delia simply couldn’t define but it made her distinctly unsure of herself. 

Patsy turned, recognised the petite Welsh woman and greeted her with a small raise of the eyebrows and a tilt of the head. Her voice rang out down the corridor when she spoke.

‘Off to collect the purple passions?’

‘Sorry?’ replied Delia. ‘I thought were getting our uniforms?’

Patsy’s face lit up for a moment with a broad smile revealing dimples as deep as her own, but Delia was relieved to note it was warm, no mockery behind the instinctive response. 

‘Yes, absolutely. Uniforms. That’s what the girls call them, because of the colour. Purple passions – truly ghastly apparently.’

‘Ah well, I never was much one for fashion.’

Twenty minutes later Delia stood, rather forlornly, in front of the sister in charge of all things connected to home economics. Patsy stood alongside her with Edith and Jane completing the line up. It wasn’t the dress that bothered Delia, though she knew her height was a distinct disadvantage in wearing such a garment elegantly and she was utterly horrified by the puff sleeves which blocked her view if she turned her head sideways, it was the instructions currently being outlined to the assembled listeners. 

‘Do cheer up Busby’ said Patsy as the women were directed towards a row of sewing machines and a supervising seamstress handed out neatly folded white cloth for making a crisp new apron alongside a set of measurements taken earlier in the fitting. 

‘Just be thankful you don’t have to wear the results of my efforts. I told you last night I’m hopeless. I was hoping to delay it a few days at least.’ Delia huffed as she sat at the ancient Singer and slipped off her new shoes so that her feet might find the treadle better. 

‘You look the part’ teased Patsy as she sat at her own machine. She dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘Just ask if you want any help. I’m sure there are things you are splendid at and at which I am a sheer horror. You’ll be able to return the favour.’

Delia found herself blushing deeply. She smiled, gently at first before it spread into a wide, grateful grin and Patsy couldn’t help but smile back; the lopsided fishhook response of the right hand side of the blonde’s face was warmly noted by Delia before she dropped her eyes back to the needle and the task in hand. Her tongue protruded slightly as she focussed and Patsy smiled again before she too glanced down and her own deft hands began with a seam of the new overall.

By the end of supper Delia felt exhausted, she excused herself from the table and made her way back to her room. As she hung the lilac dress on a broad wooden hanger and attached the metal hook over the top of the wardrobe door she brushed away a couple of imaginary creases. She smiled. She was here. At the London. As a nurse, or as good as, and there was the uniform to prove it. There came a gentle knock at the door. Delia looked at her wrist watch; surely it couldn’t be a room inspection at this hour and she doubted if matron every knocked so timidly. 

‘Come in’ she called and watched as the handle twisted down and the door slowly revealed a rather sheepish looking Patsy Mount. 

‘I wasn’t sure you’d be here. I thought you’d be with the others in the recreation room. I was just going to leave this outside.’ 

Delia cocked her head inquisitively and looked at the bundle in Patsy’s arms. Patsy shifted a little awkwardly on the threshold.

‘Jane told me our aprons had been pressed so when I collected mine I thought I’d pick up yours too. I hope you don’t mind. I feel somewhat invested in the whole process after this morning.’

‘That’s incredibly kind of you. Thank you, Patsy. Come in, shut the door.’

Patsy hesitated. Delia shrugged. 

‘It’s ok, if you were headed to the recreation room I don’t mind.’

‘No, I wasn’t.’ Patsy spoke quickly, biting her bottom lip. ‘Never really been one for large groups. When one spends so much time on one’s own it becomes rather a habit.’

She spoke lightly but Delia sensed a brief slip in the self-assurance she had already come to associate with the tall blonde woman hovering in her doorway. Delia turned, strode over to her bed and opened the bottom drawer of the sturdy cabinet beside it. She bent, lithe and agile, and when she straightened up she was holding an aged hip flask slightly larger than her palm. 

‘Share a nip?’ she asked, gesturing Patsy into the room with a sideways nod of her head. Glancing down the corridor with feigned nonchalance Patsy swiftly entered and clicked the door shut behind her.

‘Busby! You absolute dark horse.’

Delia simply grinned. A wide symmetrical smile that lit her face under the dark fringe of the hair she kept perpetually off her small face in a bun or high schoolgirl ponytail.

‘Present from Tad before I left.’ 

Delia perched on the edge of the single mattress, opened her free hand and leaned to pat the bedclothes beside her in invitation. She looked up and fixed her eyes on Patsy’s for a moment. Unaccountably, Patsy felt herself swallowing hard at Delia’s earnest gaze and words. 

‘I think I owe you a thankyou Patience Mount. I hope I can do something for you before very long.’


	4. Trust Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Training begins in earnest for Delia as thoughts stray to home and she begins to feel closer to Patsy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry folks it isn't short at all but splitting it in two didn't feel right.

The dust flecks darted in the shaft of light that poked through the chink in the curtains and inched its way over the bedclothes towards the tangle of loosed dark hair, slack limbs and regulation brown blanket. The second it fell on Delia’s face it disturbed her slumber and her eyes opened with lazy regret as she instinctively turned her face away from the offending sunshine. She groaned aloud at the memory of Tad’s whisky and stifling late-night giggles as Patsy had proved an impressive mimic. It certainly offered a cause for the insistent beat in her left temple. She rolled over and glanced at the hands of the ivory edged alarm clock sat, squat and ticking loudly, on the bedside table. It took a moment for the hands to swim into proper focus and Delia blinked.

The minute hand moved to cover the ten and Delia fully registered the horror of her situation. She was already five minutes late for breakfast and there was every chance she might not make it for housekeeping at seven thirty. Sitting bold upright nausea rolled over her like a wave surrounding and destroying a sandcastle. She felt her stomach lurch and settle. She paused. There was no way she could be seriously hungover she decided. The hip flask wasn’t huge and Patsy had cheerfully partaken in equally as much. She simply needed to calm down, get up, get dressed and ensure she was polishing taps by the time the sister supervising the morning cleaning activities began her scrutiny of the girls. 

As she busied herself she began to feel better immediately. Not wanting to attract the unwanted notice of matron on her inspection of the rooms Delia ensured her bed was made, the vacant hanger that held her lilac dress was stowed away and, crucially, the empty hipflask layered between papers in the box that held her writing materials. She smiled as she closed the door and hurried down the long cream corridor remembering a time three years previously when she and Gwen had found a bottle of brandy in Mrs Busby’s baking cupboard and panicked wildly about the noticeable depletion in the volume after trying more than a few mouthfuls each. Gwen had taken Delia’s face in her hands and drunkenly leaned in to tell her that if she topped it up with water nobody would ever notice. To trust her. 

Delia skipped down the stairs as quickly as her throbbing head would allow and reached the entry of the home quarters in the bowels of the hospital and where Delia knew invalid cooking was to be taught later that morning. It was just before twenty-five past seven. She knew she would feel her missing breakfast as the day wore on but she was flooded with relief as she pushed on the wood to force the door to swing open and the only person on the other side was Patsy. ‘Morning old thing’ said the older woman brightly, looking up from her position on the floor where a patch of lino before her was white with suds in a pattern that reminded Delia of a loilpop that Gareth had once won for Gwen at a travelling fair in the village. ‘How’s the head?’

‘Fuzzy’ answered Delia, honestly.

Patsy smiled, rocked back on her haunches and brushed a stray strand of blonde hair away from her face, a trail of tiny bubbles attaching themselves to her cheek as she did so. She gave a shake of her head to free herself of the unwanted froth but it remained in place, clinging comically to her skin. Delia laughed; she moved to where Patsy knelt and bent, brushing away the bubbles with the back of her fingers. Delia hadn’t yet straightened up when several more students came crashing through the swing doors. 

Patsy suddenly recoiled from Delia like she’d been burnt, crashing her hand back into the pail of suds with an obvious clang as the wooden handled scrubbing brush struck the dented metal curve of the bucket. She allowed a puddle of soapy water to pool on the linoleum before creating a huge lather with vigorous circular patterns. Delia froze, stared at the top of Patsy’s head. When it came, Patsy’s voice was hard, clipped.

‘If you wouldn’t mind moving I’d rather like to get on.’ 

Delia’s cheeks burned, her headache threatened to overwhelm her and she inwardly cursed the prick of hot tears blinked back as she moved swiftly to the other side of the room and a large double sink in stainless steel. She gripped the thin edges until she felt the metal find an uncomfortable groove in the skin of her hands and closed her eyes for a moment against the world. Across the large echoing kitchen, now filled with the clamour of girls beginning their daily chores, Patsy Mount stilled in her work. She gripped the curve of the brush and allowed her lids to cover her eyes, blocking out the melee for just a moment. 

The others chattered excitedly about the events of this day and the next as, an hour before bedtime, Delia sat on a large walnut armed chair in the far corner of the recreation room, her legs tucked under her as she rested a hard-backed notepad on her twisted lap. Her eyes darted over the notes she had made that afternoon. The girls’ first proper lecture mused Delia. Anatomy, delivered by the redoubtable Mr Lloyd. Delia had been truly impressed by his commanding presence and couldn’t help but be thrilled by hearing a powerful south Welsh timbre filling the lecture hall as he pushed and pulled on a life size skeleton the other girls had quickly named Phillip after somebody decided it looked like the Duke of Edinburgh. Delia had sat transfixed throughout, her headache gone and the charisma of Mr Lloyd enough to help push the events of the morning to one side for a short while. 

A book appeared in the space between Delia’s pad and where she was reflectively chewing the end of her pencil. It was leather bound, weighty, it looked expensive. Delia looked up. Patsy Mount gazed back, her face a pained model of contrition. It was the first time that Delia had seen Patsy in the shared social space. 

‘I thought you might want to borrow it.’ Patsy’s voice was low and even. ‘It’s Jane Eyre. You said last night that you hadn’t read it and it’s one of my favourites. She’s something of a heroine of mine in fact.’

Delia recognised the apology in the action, she wanted to press Patsy’s arm in thanks as she reached for the beautiful book with its sunken engraved lettered but instead made certain that their fingers didn’t touch. 

‘Thank you, that’s very kind.’ Delia gave a small smile, curving her lips upwards briefly and Patsy felt some of the tension she had carried all day melt away. She desperately wanted to say sorry but gazing down at Delia the words just wouldn’t form. She was saved, rather surprisingly, by the strident tones of Virginia. 

‘Oh Patience wasn’t Lloyd just the most frightful bore?’ Several of the other girls laughed as Virginia adopted a comedic Welsh lilt in parody. ‘I’m from Wa-les and I can-not teach for toff-eeeee.’

‘Oh Ginny you are a card’ said a large, broad shouldered girl with a distinct northern burr. 

Delia dropped her pencil in her lap, her left hand curled around the soft tapered ends of Jane Eyre whilst the forefinger of her right hand, bent at the knuckle, pressed into her lips. Patsy glanced down at the woman in the chair below her, she sensed Delia was fighting the urge to retaliate, sensed the tightening in her muscles. Patsy looked back at Virginia, paused before she spoke. 

‘Actually, I thought he was rather splendid.’

Virginia faltered, narrowed her eyes, like a fighter sizing up an opponent. Patsy held her gaze but her next words were softer, a genuine enquiry. 

‘Why did you decide to become a nurse Virginia?’

‘Best chance I’ll ever get to marry a handsome surgeon’ trilled Virginia. ‘Isn’t that why we’re all here? That’s what they’re truly training us for – all that cleaning and cooking. It’s all preparation for homemaking unless you’re a dry old spinster like matron.’

‘Not all of us’ said Patsy simply. ‘Some of us believe it we could be good at it. Helping people.’

Delia looked up from her chair. She felt a knot tighten in her stomach as she looked at the determined set of Patsy’s jawline, her mouth slightly downturned, her stance upright, bordering on the pugilistic, as if an electric force was keeping her tense. Virginia lowered her eyes, laughed gaily and turned back to her group of friends. Patsy visibly swallowed. Her hands clenched and unclenched once and without another word or glance at anybody she strode from the room.

Without knowing quite how Delia knew she needed to say thank you.


	5. Gratitude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delia begins to enjoy life at the London but she regrets the loss of Patsy's friendship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the comments and positivity. I'm enjoying writing this and it is incredibly gratifying to know that I am not just whistling in the dark about my love for these two characters. Although this is third person, clearly this is Delia's narrative and this chapter is a little further exploration of her thoughts and feelings. I think perhaps because she isn't a Nonnatun (at least not yet!) we don't necessarily always learn much about her in CtM and perhaps part of me wants to fill in the gaps because I think she has a lot to give as a character. Anyway, enough. I hope you enjoy! And I promise that we'll see more of (cute) Patsy very soon.

New routines, new friendships, a new order for Delia’s life had begun to take shape. Whilst she had cringed and inwardly cursed through the domestic based material of the first days and silently loathed the daily cleaning chores the medical facets of basic training were far more to her tastes. One of the sisters had gone so far as to tell her she was a natural nurse, earning her warm congratulations and gentle teasing from many in the set. Virginia remained an irritant like a persistent bluebottle. She buzzed around on the periphery of Delia’s consciousness, always ready with a snide sideswipe about valleys, coal mines or, on one baffling occasion, thistles; Delia had bitten back the desperate desire to point out that she wasn’t Scottish but supposed that to Virginia one provincial Celtic outpost was very like another. 

She still longed to openly thank Patsy, to acknowledge that the older woman had put her head above the parapet. Writing to Gwen during the first weekend off she had begun to delineate the incident in the recreation room but found herself strangely unable to describe the situation without sounding as if she was embarrassingly oversensitive and appropriating Patsy’s reaction. She wanted to tell Gwen about her new friend, about her generous reaction, but every description of Patsy sounded hollow and failed entirely to do her justice. In the end Delia had torn the page and started over, restricting her writing to straightforward accounts of day to day life in the nurses' home and asking bland questions about Joe Taylor to which she didn’t actually want answers. 

In truth, she had also faltered about labelling Patsy as her friend at all. Though she thought daily about the tall blonde’s kindness in the first forty-eight hours of training, now, deep into the second week, she realised she had seen very little of Patsy. The large set of girls were frequently separated into smaller groups for specific tasks and aside from breakfast, which Patsy seemed to ignore completely in favour of an early cigarette and beginning domestic chores before everybody else, meals were often taken at slightly staggered times. 

After the evening meal had ended the majority of the girls settled themselves in the recreation room, some had developed the habit of taking a walk in the grounds with the surreptitious intent of seeing the doctors at changeover but Delia had not seen Patsy do either of these things. Three times in the last week Delia had found herself loitering outside Patsy’s door in the evening, her palms pressed together, finger tips resting on her lips and her weight rocking onto the balls of her feet and gently lowered; her default stance whenever she was overcome with nerves or emotion. She was irritated with herself. She was steadfastly of the opinion that people must take her as they found her. She had never lacked for confidence despite a deep-seated desire to please that, with typical self-awareness, she attributed to her mother’s overbearing presence in her early life. Yet here she was. 

The second Thursday since she had left Wales passed slowly for Delia. With a huffy sigh she put aside the writing materials she had gathered together after supper and made her way to the window of her second floor room. She gazed out. The grounds beyond the glass were darkening, the air was a deep grainy purple, the dark paths merged with the manicured grass over which they crisscrossed and Delia’s eye was caught by the movement of a blonde head, notably pale in the gloaming. She narrowed her eyes, focusing her stare. The bearing was unmistakable. Patsy. Delia’s stomach gave a distinctive lurch. Before she had really considered what it was she was doing she was slipping out of her room, threading through the corridors to the utilitarian exit and out onto the patch of ground between the nurses’ accommodation and the sprawl of the London Hospital. Soundlessly she moved into the lengthening shadows and approached the upright figure of Patsy Mount. Stood perfectly erect, her right arm bent at the elbow, her outstretched fingers elegantly holding the last of a cigarette, her left arm bent across her middle, fingers tucked away under the crease of the opposite elbow Patsy looked effortlessly beautiful. Delia paused, bit back the instinctive desire to tell Patsy how elegant she looked, how like a self-possessed star of the films she had so infrequently had the chance to see back in Pembrokeshire. Suddenly shy, Delia heard her voice, quieter than usual.

‘Patsy?’

The older woman turned, startled by the intrusion. 

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,’ said Delia, instinctively.

‘Delia. How are you?’ 

The question was formal. Emotionless. Unease flooded Delia’s rib cage as if she had been winded, she felt her chest constrict. Was Patsy simply being polite, her clearly impeccable breeding rising to the fore in response to Delia’s unexpected encroachment on her quiet reflection? Before she had time to answer Patsy flicked the remainder of the cigarette to her feet, she raised her right shoe and with a practised half turn of the foot crushed the butt and stood back, leaving a scar of paper and tobacco on the path. Delia knew in all likelihood Patsy would turn and depart in a moment, leave her stood alone on the path and the thought left her oddly bereft. 

‘I wanted to see you’ Delia heard herself say and the words sounded bald, too frank, too honest as they hung in the rapidly chilling air. Dusk was being swamped by night and Delia struggled to read fully Patsy’s expression as the blonde turned to face her, her eyebrows raised. ‘I wanted to say thank you.’

Patsy felt a surge of gratitude towards the diminutive Welsh girl stood diffidently in front of her. The recognition of her actions in the recreation room meant a great deal but she felt entirely ill-equipped to discuss the matter further. Inwardly she cursed her reserve. Her instinctive desire to avoid discussion of emotion. She wished to detain Delia, to talk to her further; she searched for safer ground.

‘Are you enjoying it?’ asked Patsy, her tone much warmer, the tenor of her voice alive in the question.

Delia frowned for a moment. Realisation dawned quickly.

Jane Eyre. 

‘Oh yes. It’s wonderful.’ Delia hesitated. No more than a beat. ‘We’re a little like Jane and Helen aren’t we?’ 

‘Are we?’ The amusement in Patsy’s voice was tempered by genuine interest and a thrill at Delia’s ingenuous enthusiasm. 

‘Talking in the garden about books’ explained Delia, and then meeting Patsy’s eyes she continued, hoping her words didn’t sound ridiculous. ‘Sort of separate from all the others, a sort of shared understanding.’ 

The fish hook smile was just discernible, accompanied by a short laugh sounded through Patsy’s nostrils. 

‘Don’t you go dying on me little Helen Burns. I rather like having you around.’


	6. Purity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patsy is thrilled to be involved in a visit beyond the hospital and Delia can't help be infected by her enthusiasm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is a slow burn, I hope you will forgive me. I even feel that this chapter might be too much too soon for Patsy! Despite having a clear idea of how this chapter would unfold it was becoming monstrous in size so I have done some editing and hope that it still makes sense but that the pace is slightly more lively.

Delia gazed at herself in the half-length mirror, edged with same dark wood as so much of the furniture in the nurses’ home. It was a blessed relief to be free of the enormous puff sleeves for the day and she wondered idly, and with a quick grin, if Norman Hartnell had ever tried one of the dresses on whilst he was deciding what was practical for a nurse in a busy hospital. 

Her reverie was interrupted by a rapid tapping at the door, the quick turn of a handle and the excited figure of Patsy Mount appearing, smiling, at the threshold. Since the exchange in the garden a fortnight earlier the two women had fallen into companionable habits – calling for one another before meals and lectures and spending genial evenings reviewing the passing days as their initial basic training raced to its conclusion. Delia smiled back as Patsy stepped into the room. 

‘Very daring,’ said Delia, her eyes flashing like azure stone as she looked Patsy up and down. ‘Does matron know you are planning on wearing slacks for the visit?’

‘Not planning Deels, actually wearing. I have been looking forward to this for a week, I want to be comfortable.’ Patsy put her hand on her hips, her slender fingers accentuating the arc where her hips curved into her waist. Delia smiled fondly at Patsy’s defiance of convention. Matron would comment, there was no doubt, but Patsy looked ready to take on all comers. 

‘I’m only jealous – I’d love to be able to wear something like that.’ Delia looked down at her dress and tugged at the purple sleeves of her cardigan. Patsy’s voice was low and quiet when it came. 

‘You look entirely lovely.’

Delia felt a rush of colour to her cheeks and the smile returned until her dimples showed deep in her rounded cheeks. Patsy returned the broad grin and reached for the navy blue coat hanging awkwardly on the shoulders of a high backed chair near the door. 

‘Come on Busby, shake a leg, we don’t want to miss the bus.’

‘I don’t know why you’re so excited. When the sister said we were going to the Nestle factory I really thought there would be chocolate involved. I can’t tell you how disappointed I was when I realised it was nothing but milk.’

‘You can and you have’ said Patsy, raising her eyebrows at Delia as the smaller woman shrugged into the coat she was proffering. ‘I think it is amazing. To get to see such incredible processes at work. A factory that means milk is safe, pure, all the bacteria gone. Listeria, campylobacter, salmonella, tuberculosis, God even typhoid - they disappear.’

‘With thanks to Miss Mount of the milk marketing board’ teased Delia, nudging her friend with her shoulder as they walked down the corridor towards the main entrance where all the girls had been told to assemble. Patsy slipped quickly into her room to collect a coat as Delia went on. ‘I love a nice glass of milk as much as the next girl but I was still hoping for chocolate. You can’t beat a nice bar of milk chocolate with almonds. Oh, or a Nesquik.’ The younger woman was still talking, reminiscing about the end of rationing when Patsy finally held the front door open and the two stepped into the sharp sting of the November air. 

Once inside the large, imposing plant a man in a white coat redolent of the doctors at the London explained the process of heating, the absolutely sterile conditions, the other applications of pasteurisation; as was often the case with Delia when faced with new knowledge she found herself completely absorbed. 

When the group of chattering women climbed aboard the bus that would take them on the last stretch of their journey across London and back to Whitechapel both Delia and Patsy felt rather fatigued. 

‘Admit it, you rather enjoyed yourself’ said Patsy as she lit a cigarette and glanced down at the diminutive brunette bedside her, perched on the hard, uncomfortable utilitarian seat of the routemaster. 

Do you know, I really did’ replied Delia. She paused for a moment. ‘Still would have been better with chocolate though.’

Patsy gave a short laugh and lent back against the metal handrail behind her. She closed her eyes and allowed the nicotine to flood her system. She was beginning to feel happy. A sense of belonging she wasn’t sure she had ever experienced before. Unwittingly, Delia smashed into her contentment, the next question, a simple musing aloud, creating a buzz of flies in Patsy’s stomach that threatened to rise up and consume her being in a hum of confused discomfort. 

‘Patsy? What makes you so very keen on all this hygiene stuff?’ 

‘What?’ Patsy stalled. Her jaw tightened and she sucked aggressively at the cigarette between her long fingers. Delia flinched. She felt, rather than saw, the tension in the older woman’s body. For a second time Patsy looked down. Blue eyes alight with concern met her own and she sighed deeply. She dropped her eyes, shifted her gaze to the droplets of water chasing one another down the windows, streaked with condensation. Delia didn’t move. She kept motionless and silent, allowed Patsy to swallow, draw again on the cigarette, before the answer, low and steady and only just loud enough for Delia to hear. 

‘When I was a child, perhaps nine or ten, I was surrounded by dirt. Unimaginable filth.’ 

Confusion furrowed Delia’s brow, she had discussed school with Patsy during their evenings studying, knew that the older woman had attended a highly respected boarding school and had made natural assumptions about her background and parentage. She was loath to interrupt, ask anymore questions as Patsy blew out a cloud of cigarette smoke, closed her eyes for a moment before turning half a head towards Delia. 

‘Rats ran everywhere, the size of kittens, and the sun, that awful bloody heat, made the stench unbearable. They used to make us scoop the sewage from the gutters to make it run away faster.’

Patsy shuddered discernibly and Delia reached out, put the tips of her fingers on top of the hand with which Patsy was gripping the hem of her coat. Receiving no rebuke or withdrawal Delia rested her palm against the top of Patsy’s fingers. 

‘Where was this cariad?’ 

The soft compassion in Delia’s voice almost overwhelmed Patsy and her answer was a choked whisper. 

‘For three years. An internment camp in Singapore.’ There was a pause as Patsy raised her gaze to meet Delia’s. ‘Please don’t tell the others.’

As Delia nodded her assent, Patsy inclined her head in silent thanks and the stirrings of a forced smile flickered across her face. Both women were grateful when it became apparent that their stop was approaching and they rose from their seats to step into the black void of the winter night where Patsy’s upset and Delia’s concern were no longer visible to each other or anybody else. As they climbed the few steps to their accommodation Delia reached out a hand, stilled Patsy as she made to use the handrail. 

‘So you know, if you ever want to talk to me, I’ll be here.’

After a quiet evening meal and protesting a headache Patsy excused herself and went to lie down so Delia collected Jane Eyre and made her way to the recreation room where she slid into a window alcove and attempted to lose herself in Bronte’s world but failed. Her mind wandering back to the bus and to Patsy’s quiet revelation she thought, repeatedly, about knocking on her friend’s door, offering an Ovaltine; it all seemed inadequate somehow. 

When Delia returned to her room just before the night time curfew she paused outside Patsy’s room, listened. All was completely silent. Padding down the lino to her own stark quarters Delia sighed. She pushed open the door of her room and with practised ease moved to the bedside table, put down her book, despite the darkness. She felt for the stem of the bedside lamp and pushed the switch through until a feeble yellow light cast a shadow rimmed circle on the pale counterpane. Delia smiled just as tears brimmed in her eyes. 

There, on the bedspread, lay the distinctive blue and white wrapping of a Nestle milk chocolate bar, with almonds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Other brands of chocolate are available but I am aware through research that nurses from the London in the 1950s were required to go on a visit to the Nestle plant!


	7. Askew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delia receives a dressing down and turns to Patsy for help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for the encouraging comments. It's really gratifying to know that people are enjoying the story. This chapter is about as close to fluff as you can get for two characters who don't yet know they are in love but I wanted to give them a bit of a break before the angst gets cranked up :)

The taste of the lead was bitter and the soft wood was wet and unpleasant against Delia’s tongue but, focussed as she was, her teeth continued to move over the end of the pencil. Her forehead was furrowed and her eyes narrowed as she squinted into the middle distance. 

‘Did you miss breakfast?’ asked Patsy, smiling.

Delia looked up from the highbacked chair near the door of her room and across at the cross-legged figure on her bed. She cocked her head to one side and shook her head momentarily; a question more than a denial of the question. 

‘You’re making short work of that pencil, I wondered if you were peckish’ explained Patsy, somewhat feebly.

‘I’m just concentrating’ retorted Delia snappishly, her eyes back on the large hardback book opened precariously on her lap. The silence lasted less than a minute. ‘Sorry. You didn’t deserve that.’

‘Deels?’ the rising intonation of Patsy’s question was muted but her concern was evident. Delia shut the pencil between the leaves of the text book and dropped it to the floor by the chair leg. She stretched out her limbs, arms reaching towards her knees as her ankles flexed and her toes, in stocking feet, pointed towards Patsy settled on the bed. She leaned back until the back of her head met the headrest of the chair and closed her eyes as she let out a groan and then spoke. 

‘Matron on yesterday’s ward visit.’

‘Thompson the terror?’

‘Seriously Patsy, do you have nickname for everybody and everything? But yes, Thompson. She absolutely has it in for me, she told me I was sloppy. And incapable. And lopsided.’

‘Lopsided?’ Patsy couldn’t contain a short laugh. ‘I’ve always thought of you as wonderfully symmetrical.’

Delia’s head snapped forward and she looked over at her friend, her words rapid and breathless in explanation. 

‘My cap wasn’t on straight but she seems to think it’s the actual cap -she actually removed it and she wants a new one from me by my next ward visit and we have to revise for the test on anatomy and you know how I feel about sewing. It was my second time on an actual hospital ward and I managed to get a dressing down. And to put the absolute tin lid on it Ginny was stood about four feet away enjoying the whole show.’

‘Oh Deels, I wouldn’t worry – I think everybody else has been through that several times already. I was beginning to think you were immune. You’re the absolute model of a tight ship and eminently capable.’

‘I am not lopsided!’ protested Delia at the omission and both women giggled. 

Patsy used her forefinger to flick the corner of the notebook resting against her knee as she sat in a casual pose that reminded Delia of her days at the village school listening to stories. Gradually Patsy unfurled herself and stretched, redolent of a cat too long in front of the fire. 

‘Come on. We need a break.’

‘Oh where are we going?’ Delia’s voice was lively, interested; she was already pushing herself out of chair when the reply came.

‘We’re going to make a start on your new cap’ said Patsy brightly. 

‘It’s Saturday afternoon, the home sister won’t be here, she’ll have gone home’ said Delia, somewhat triumphantly. 

‘Well how terribly fortunate that I know where the white cotton is then, and the starch. You lucky old thing.’

Delia gave another audible groan as she watched Patsy slip on her shoes and look expectantly at the shorter woman stood before her. Patsy grinned broadly, her tone mocking. 

‘You’ll thank me when you impress Matron with your straightness.’

Delia followed Patsy out of the door with a huff. 

‘I’m starting to think straight isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.’

The tall blonde in front gave a short, hollow laugh. Delia quickened her pace and fell easily in step despite the disparity in leg length.

The sewing room was, as Delia had predicted on the walk down, entirely empty. She stood, reluctant to enter fully watching Patsy with a degree of suspicion as she moved with cheerful alacrity to a metal handled cupboard on the opposing wall and pulled out a folded square of material. She pulled at a drawer and spent half a minute pushing the contents from side to side until she drew out a flimsy looking sheet of tracing paper and brandished it towards Delia. She nodded towards a shelf close to Delia’s head.

‘Bring some pins.’

Delia did as she was bidden and within half an hour Patsy had teased and cajoled a passable outline of a nurse’s cap from Delia’s awkward ministrations. She gathered up the cloth and sat neatly at one of the aged sewing machines. She patted the narrow wooden flat stool at which she had seated herself and nudged herself to the very edge. 

‘Come on, I’ll show you.’ 

Delia slipped herself into the narrow gap between the table and stool. The proximity of Patsy felt almost shocking to the younger student after weeks where she had very little human contact except when learning how to turn a patient to make a bed. She felt Patsy’s thigh press into her own as the blonde flexed her calf to move the pedal unseen below the table.

‘Okay, put your hands on the cap here and here.’ Patsy pointed and smiled her approbation when Delia’s fingers instinctively spread to hold the material in place. She reached across, took Delia’s right hand and guided it to the wheel. Delia felt the cold metal on her palm but her attention was on the press of Patsy’s own palm on the back of her hand. Together they slowly worked the composite parts of the antique machine, Patsy assiduous in keeping Delia’s hands steady and her stitches neat and equal. 

‘There, it just needs starching’ said Patsy, rising from the stool and holding the cap between pinched fingers when it was done. Delia looked up, she smiled but her body shivered at the sudden loss of heat at Patsy’s withdrawal. Her stomach gave a small lurch, she felt the distance between them and regretted it; she was, for a moment, disappointed that the task was complete. She too stood, turned to face Patsy and looked critically at the afternoon’s work. 

‘Thank you for being so patient.’

Patsy raised her eyebrows. 

‘If that’s a joke Deels I’ve heard it before.’

Delia winced and then smiled, a grin that spread across her face and lit the azure eyes beneath the dark fringe. Patsy took a small step forward, brought her hands up to Delia’s head and placed the cap on her mass of dark hair, gentle pressure of long, elegant fingers against Delia’s scalp.

‘Rather fetching Nurse Busby.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Despite growing up in a house where the sewing machine was a constant feature I never actually learnt to dress make or even sew properly so apologies if this chapter has factual flaws or anachronistic moments surrounding the dress making. The idea that Delia is hopeless at sewing grew from the scene where Patsy and Delia wait up to ask for assistance with Delia's dress (despite the fact that her clothes are always lovely and so this is actually unlikely unless Patsy has been making them for her since training school!!).


	8. Homesickness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delia is starting to struggle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry (not sorry) about this. I hope you can forgive me.  
> I am truly very grateful for all the very positive encouragement I have been receiving. I have worked 7 days this week and I passed my time during a long, long boring stretch (admittedly in a very beautiful place) mapping out some extra chapters to insert here after the delight expressed at the 'fluff.' Therefore this is, I promise, leading to a little fluff (as far as you can have fluff with characters who may be OTP but don't quite know it yet!). I am a little more concerned than usual that this may have expression errors as I am properly exhausted but writing is a lovely wind down and I don't want to fiddle too much with this chapter  
> given it's been somewhat organic.  
> Thanks again for my amazing welcome to AO3.

The week was a difficult one. Delia was tired. She knew her mood was fragile and was careful to keep her emotions in check during interactions with Matron on her single ward visit and she deliberately avoided Virginia Smyth both during working hours and the meagre leisure time the girls enjoyed. As Friday dawned Delia felt almost grateful it was exam day. Tests had become a routine part of the trainees’ life and Delia, despite her near constant self-deprecation, knew that she was on safe ground. She enjoyed the hushed atmosphere, the flutter of anxiety as the paper was turned - always allayed with a deep breath and a recognition that the question was manageable. For Delia demonstrating her knowledge was a source of satisfaction, she revelled in the challenge of examinations despite often pulling a face of despair when each new test was announced. 

As she left the large room with its rows of desks, the silence fractured by the relieved chattering of the examined girls, Delia felt a hand on her arm and halted.  
‘There’s a meeting about the end of basic. Are you coming?’ asked Patsy, as the two of them were left just beyond the swinging doors whilst the others dispersed quickly. The corridor felt unnaturally quiet to Delia after the sudden surge in noise following the exam and she swallowed a tired sigh as she replied.

‘I suppose so. I heard Jeanie and Jane talking about it.’

The two of them strode towards the end of the corridor and the high ceilings of the recreation room. On entering Delia crossed to her favourite chair and sank gratefully into the mustard coloured upholstery. Patsy, close behind, hovered uncertainly for a moment. Delia gestured to the arm and Patsy lowered herself uncertainly, perching rather uncomfortably. She reached her left arm across the back above Delia’s head to steady herself and Delia fought a desire, born of fatigue and a natural tendency to be tactile, simply to sink herself into the older woman’s protective pose. She contented herself with pushing her head back into the highbacked rest and pinching the bridge of her nose with her fingers. 

‘Deels are you quite alright?’ asked Patsy. Delia looked up at two concerned eyes boring into her. ‘You’re terribly quiet old thing.’

‘Are you suggesting I don’t ever stop talking?’ said Delia rather weakly. 

It was enough to make them both smile as they both trained their eyes on Jeanie who made her way to the fireplace and addressed the assembled group of twenty. Delia barely listened as excited plans for an 'end of training' party were outlined. She was pleased about the event but had absolutely no desire to get involved in any performance element. 

‘What about you, valley-girl?’ 

The unpleasant tone, always masked by the clipped sounds of perfect received pronunciation, was unmistakable. Delia’s jaw tightened; her lips pressed together before she regained her composure to speak.

‘Sorry, Virginia. Are you talking to me?’

‘Surely you can sing. All your lot can sing, can’t they?’ 

Delia knew, in that moment, that if she spoke she was likely to utter something she would absolutely live to regret. She felt the tension sit in the air, pregnant. All eyes on her, then flitting to the elegant figure of Virginia, legs crossed, body turned towards Delia and Patsy on a chair several feet nearer the fireplace. The moment stretched, the silence yawned on. Delia felt Patsy sit up straighter on her slim, walnut perch, using her height despite her ridiculous sitting position. 

‘Not really your thing is it old bean?’

Delia shook her head at Patsy’s words. A negative affirmation that pushed the discussion in the room forward again. More chatter and debate ensued but Delia heard nothing of it. She sat on her fury like a racehorse in the traps, twitching, her right leg bouncing almost imperceptibly. Within thirty minutes the meeting had closed, Delia’s rage had abated a little and the recreation room crowd had thinned.

‘Matron’s releasing the post’ called a voice from the door to a chorus of thank yous and smiles from those left in the communal area.

‘I’ll go’ said Delia, grateful for a chance to escape. She was feeling claustrophobic and still harboured a desire to spar with Virginia who was now loudly regaling Jeanie and Roberta with a story about her well-established talent for entertainment, honed at boarding school.

When she returned to the recreation room Patsy had moved to the window seat Delia herself favoured when she wished to read, her own chair remained vacant. As she approached it she caught Patsy’s eye and shook her head. Patsy may not have letters but Delia’s heart was gladdened by her small bundle; the writing, she knew, meant news from mam, Gareth and Gwen. She realised with a jolt of surprise that she felt rather homesick, Delia was devouring the letter from Gareth when she was caught unawares by a question from Jeanie. 

‘You’ve cheered up Delia. Who’s the letter from? You got a chap back home?’

Delia didn’t look up. Distracted, she nodded, processed the second interrogative only as the first was being answered. 

‘It’s from Gareth.’ She looked up hurriedly. ‘That is, he’s my friend from school, see.’

She coloured, a blush racing upwards from her collar. She heard her own accent thicken in her confusion, the vernacular sounding odd in the environs of the very English training school and the blush deepened. She glanced towards Patsy, hoping for another sign of support but the tall blonde looked back at her, a stricken expression on her face, before she turned and gazed out at the darkening November sky. In another minute she would rise and slip out of the room; a cold shiver passing over the brunette as she breezed by and wished her friend goodnight without looking down.

Delia wanted to scream. She forced herself to look at Jeanie again who was grinning; an affectionate, teasing smile. 

‘Always the quiet ones’ she said, winking and returning to the magazine she had been leafing through.


	9. Closing the Gap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delia feels compelled to explain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a split chapter as it was becoming truly monstrous but I wanted them to sort things out! Thanks again for all the positive comments - they mean a great deal.

As Delia made her way back to her room she stopped outside Patsy’s door. She felt a gaping chasm had been opened between them. Stood on the threshold of Patsy’s room Delia raised her hand to her mouth, she closed the fingers into a fist, bounced the fleshy part of her forefinger against her lips. Nerves swarmed in her stomach; she tried to rationalise what it was she was feeling. She was horribly unsettled. She knew she felt exhausted and then further fatigued by the exchanges with Virginia and Jeanie. An urgent, insistent need to explain to Patsy gnawed at the younger woman. After a long breath in and out through the nose Delia reached out and rapped on the wood. Patsy appeared as the hinges squeaked, blowing smoke to the side she stood back to let Delia in, her right arm bent at the elbow, an almost spent cigarette resting between the elegant fingers. 

‘What do you want Deels?’ Patsy’s tone was weary and lacked the warmth that Delia had come to expect. The shorter woman stood, looking up at Patsy’s face; she was ashen. Deciding that action was the much better part of valour Delia spoke frankly. 

‘I haven’t lied to you Patsy. Gareth is my friend. Nothing else. I don’t have a man in Wales, or anywhere else for that matter.’

A brief smile, lasting no more than a second, lit Patsy’s face. 

‘You make him sound rather like a butler.’

Delia allowed herself to relax a little. She tilted her head. Watched as Patsy leant over the rudimentary dressing table and stubbed the final inch of cigarette into an empty ashtray. 

‘I don’t have one of those either.’

‘Over-rated’ said Patsy, pushing her lips together as if in an attempt to stop a grin forming. 

‘Men or butlers?’ asked Delia.

‘Both. Absolutely both.’

Both women laughed. The tension dissipated. Then a moment of silence hung between them. Delia looked at Patsy intently. 

‘Pats?’

The taller woman gave a weak smile; part acknowledgement of the question and part acknowledgement of the appreciation she felt at the abbreviation of her name.  
‘My sister used to call me that. Before.’ Patsy hesitated, a hitched breath in and out between her teeth sounded noisily in the quietness of the room. Delia raised her eyebrows; a smile reached her eyes though her lips moved imperceptibly. ‘Before. When she was very small.’

‘What were you going to say?’ asked Delia softly.

Patsy refocused on Delia’s face as if she had barely registered their conversation and received a gentle smile in encouragement. Patsy again looked stricken. Delia fought a desire to step forward and wrap her hands around the long, slender fingers currently clasped under Patsy’s chest.

‘I was going to say sorry. I felt a little hurt back there. I don’t have any right to know your business, it’s perfectly okay for you to discuss your life with Jeanie, or any of the girls. In a very silly way I think I felt jealous.’

Delia’s voice was quiet and low when she replied. 

‘You have no reason to be hurt – I have always told you the truth. I always will.’

Patsy smiled at the earnest expression on Delia’s face. 

‘I am sorry nonetheless.’

‘Friends?’ As she asked the question Delia closed the gap. The desire to connect, physically, overwhelmed any reticence. She felt compelled to comfort Patsy. To make certain that they understood one another. Patsy’s eyes widened in surprise as Delia reached out and covered her hands with her own, cupping them beneath and above and applying gentle pressure in an enveloping shake. 

‘Friends.’

The two women stepped apart and Patsy moved to sit on her bed. With her back against the dark wood headboard she crossed her legs. Without waiting for an invitation Delia also climbed onto the narrow single mattress, settling opposite Patsy who was tugging another cigarette from the packet on the bedside table. The smaller woman pulled her legs up, wrapped her hands around her calves.

‘I have a question,’ said Delia, narrowing her eyes and gazing at the tall blonde at the other end of the bed. For a moment Patsy stilled, the unlit cigarette in her lips, nerves making the corners of her mouth turn down, a momentary twitch in evidence. 

‘What’s that?’ 

‘Did you really have a butler?’


	10. Such Splendid Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delia is thrilled by the end of basic training and the promise of a day out with Patsy - but is there a cloud on the horizon?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have had to split this again. I clearly have far too much to say! This chapter (looking like 3 or even 4 chapters now!) are something of a hinge for the first part of the narrative so I hope that they work chopped up! Once again thanks for all the comments and recognition of the fellow fan. It is helping me get through some pretty hefty work patterns knowing I can come home, write and relax in the company of Patsy and Delia!

Delia rested the back of her fingers against the smooth pottery to test its warmth. She allowed the skin to tingle until the nerve endings began the first dance of pain. She carried the teapot to the sink and, after swilling, she tipped the hot water down the sink – watching the clear rivulets streak against the stainless steel. 

‘Got it old thing,’ said Patsy, striding into the communal kitchen and brandishing small tin the same colour as the mustard tartan of her slacks. Delia returned to the table and placing the teapot down she took the tea from Patsy’s hand; prising open the lid with her short nails and spooning several heaps into the cavity she gave a satisfied smile.

‘You look like the proverbial cat,’ observed Patsy wryly. 

Delia carried the teapot to the gas rings where a large, battered stainless steel kettle – clearly liberated from a hospital store - was beginning to whistle. As she dealt with pouring the hot water the diminutive Welsh woman looked at Patsy. 

‘I just really like Saturday mornings and this one is extra special.’

‘Clearly’ replied Patsy. Her tone shifted, teasing and light. ‘Is it because you’re spending the day in such splendid company?’

‘Of course.’ Delia smiled again, her dimples deepening as the grin widened. ‘When are they arriving again?’

Patsy had begun wiping the large wooden table with a dishcloth she had spied by the sink, at Delia’s words she halted, screwed the white flannel into a ball and launched it across the room at the brunette. It landed, limp, against the shoulder of Delia’s dress; clinging damply to the royal blue material where a short row of buttons ran towards the collar. Delia whipped the cloth away and with faux aggressive intent began to approach the tall blonde who threw back her head, giving herself up entirely to mirth at her friend’s outraged reaction. Just as Delia reached Patsy, who raised her hands as if in defence, the shorter woman’s plans were foiled by the unexpected arrival of Jeanie into the kitchen. 

‘What a racket! It’s a good job matron is busy’ said Jeanie lightly, with a sideways look at Delia who was wrapping the dishcloth absent-mindedly around her fingers. Patsy noticed the glance, tilted her head and raised her eyebrows. 

‘What is it she’s doing?’ 

Delia looked at Patsy, surprised at the sudden interest in their superior’s activities. Jeanie gave a conspiratorial grin and raised and lowered her eyebrows quickly at Patsy before she turned fully to Delia, pausing dramatically. 

‘Delia’s chap has turned up, he’s in with Matron now, asking to be allowed to see her.’

Delia visibly blanched. Panic rose within her, tightening her chest until she felt she was struggling for breath. Her mind ran through the awful possibilities – was Gwen ill, was it her parents, was Gareth in some sort of terrible trouble. She couldn’t settle on a reason that wasn’t complete catastrophising and her vision swam slightly as she tried to focus on Jeanie who had begun to speak again. 

‘Matron asked me to find you; she want to see you in her office, wouldn’t keep her waiting too long.’ Jeanie made to leave, having delivered her message. Then with an exaggerated wink at an impassive Patsy she added ‘Or your Gareth of course.’

Delia threw the dishcloth on the table and sank into a chair. The colour was still absent from her cheeks as she looked up at Patsy who was gazing down, concern now etched into her furrowed forehead. 

‘Deels?’

‘Why is he here Pats? What’s happened? He hasn’t mentioned coming to London in any letters. What if something awful has happened? What if I have made it to the end of basic training and all that work and I have to just pack up and head back to Pembroke?’ 

‘Don’t get ahead of yourself old thing.’ Patsy’s voice was smooth, quiet, liquid balm. ‘Just go and find out.’ 

‘Patsy?’

‘Delia?’

‘Come with me, I need you with me.’

Within a few moments Delia found herself facing the blank wood of the matron’s office it’s bland uniformity broken only by one of the now familiar brown raised plaques with the serif gold lettering. She paused. She pressed her hands together as if in supplication, pushed herself onto the balls of her feet and gently rocked back down. As she began to repeat the action she focussed hard on the feel of the ground through the soles of her shoes, the tightening in each calf reminding her of her connection to the earth, she pushed her fingers more firmly together until the colour was pinched from the tips and Delia felt like distal phalanx was pushing against distal phalanx, flesh reduced to bone. 

Patsy, who had been stood a few yards away, stepped forward; she placed her left hand lightly on the small of Delia’s back as she reached beyond the smaller woman, closing her right fingers into a neat fist and tapping deftly. As she withdrew she whispered very quietly into Delia’s ear. 

‘I’ll be right out here.’

‘Enter’ came a strident, nasal voice from within the room beyond the door. It felt like it came from another world. Delia didn’t trust herself to look back at Patsy. She grasped the handle, twisted, pushed the door and herself forward. 

Gareth turned his head to look at Delia as she walked in. His large frame seemed incongruous, comedic even, in the small office and he towered over the desk behind which sat Matron, her hands resting passively on the polished wood. Delia stood alongside him, she could feel rather than see his eyes on her, sensed his smile, recognised his familiar calm. The maelstrom of emotions began to subside as she forced herself to look at the matron, who fixed Delia with a hard stare.

‘Ah, Miss Busby. Thank you for joining us. Mr Jones here has been telling me about Pembrokeshire.’

Delia stared incredulously, first at Matron and then at the tall, red-haired man she knew so well. Her brain reeled again. She opened her mouth to speak but could think of absolutely nothing to say. 

‘Mr Jones is in London for a few days. He tells me you are old friends. He has had a long and tiring journey and he wished to see you. He was unsure of the protocol so he has asked permission from me to see you. I expect you would rather like to allow him to take you out for lunch.’ 

Matron smiled. Delia gaped, looking between the two. There seemed little doubt that her awkward, clumsy friend appeared to have charmed her intimidating superior. The Matron was a sizeable, well- built woman of about forty-five but as she stood suddenly and extended her right hand cordially Delia sensed the disparity between the compact feminine power she exuded and the obvious, disconcerting masculinity of her friend. His height, breadth and the sheer musculature of his upper body seemed utterly foreign in that environment, so fiercely preserved as female. Gareth lent across the desk and grasped the proffered fingers, a warm smile covering his broad features his head dipping slightly in subservient gratitude. He expressed his thankfulness, the Pembroke lilt pricking warm, unbidden and unexpected tears in Delia’s eyes. Finally, she found her own voice, registered in her head the unconscious convergence with the accent of her countryman. 

‘Thank you Matron.’

As the door opened and Delia emerged, Patsy sprang upright from her leaning position against the wall opposite. Her face remained a mask of concern but she ascertained quickly that Delia’s alarm had been unfounded.

‘Patsy, it looks like we have one extra for lunch,’ said Delia, weakly. 

‘Patsy?’ echoed Gareth at Delia’s salutation. For the second time in a few moments he extended his hand. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you.’

Delia blushed furiously, the heat climbed rapidly from her collar as she watched Gareth’s hand enclose Patsy’s and the tall woman shot Delia an amused glance as she smiled and responded. 

‘Likewise. It’s an absolute pleasure to meet you Mr Jones.’

‘Oh call me Gareth, please. Mr Jones makes me think of being in trouble at school or with me dad.’

Patsy gave a short laugh and wrinkled her nose. His guileless talk reminded her utterly of meeting Delia for the first time. She turned to her friend who still looked stunned, her usually rosy complexion was the hue of Burlington slate. She immediately took charge.

‘Deels. I’ll get rid of the tea and fetch our coats. Why don’t you take Gareth to wait in the entrance hall? You can’t keep him here; if the home sister finds him she’ll have his guts for nurses’ garters.’ 

Without waiting for a response Patsy walked away. Gareth watched her. His eyes ranged over her graceful figure, his appreciative gaze coming to rest on the gentle pitch and sway of her hips. 

‘Iesu mawr Delia! You weren’t joking when you said she was beautiful.’


	11. Triumvirate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delia runs the full gamut of emotions!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a chapter that sets up much that is to come so apologies if it is short on action and long on, well, length. After the weekend's rather devastating news for the fandom I wish I was writing pure fluff but there's a distinct edge of angst here - however, writing about Pupcake has salved my poor little fan heart a little. I hope reading about them does the same for you!

‘Ssshhhhh; she’ll hear you,’ whispered Delia furiously. ‘And I did not say that.’ The negative adverb was high, strangulated and Delia was aware her voice did not sound natural. The colour poured back into her like a syringe filling with blood until even the roots of her hair were puce. She prodded Gareth hard in the ribs through his Sunday best shirt under his jacket until he squirmed away, dragging his attention from Patsy’s retreating back to his diminutive friend. 

‘You said in one of your first letters you had a particular friend who was tall, striking and elegant.’ Gareth’s voice was petulant in its protestation. ‘And you have mentioned her about twenty times a letter ever since.’ 

‘We spend a lot of time together. Training. Revising. That sort of thing. Patsy has been really kind; it hasn’t been that easy to make friends.’

A moment’s uneasy silence hung, heavy and awkward between them. Delia touched Gareth lightly on the arm and steered him around; he still seemed unnaturally large, out of place, in the long corridors where Delia had only ever seen women. 

‘I’m sorry cariad,’ said Gareth, very gently. Delia wasn’t sure if he was apologising for the comment about Patsy or expressing regret at her confession and she didn’t trust herself to find out. Silent minutes passed until she slipped through the double swing doors leading to the small hallway that separated the nurses from the outside world and she held the door wide for Gareth to follow her through. Leaves, their brown edges curled up and reaching inexorably for their middles skittered in twos and threes on the coir matting, camouflaged against the coconut, as the November breeze blew in under the heavy door. Delia shivered.

‘Do you want my coat?’ offered Gareth gallantly his hands already on his lapels to shrug the jacket away from his shoulders. Delia giggled. 

‘I’d look ridiculous, it might reach my feet’ she demurred, shaking her head. 

He shrugged and looked a little hurt as Delia looked at him, hopelessly, any attempt to salve the rejection lost as Patsy breezed through the door, a broad smile on her face as she handed Delia her coat and watched as the younger woman tugged it on and threaded the buckle. Gareth smiled broadly at Patsy’s reappearance. 

‘Delighted you could join us.’

Delia opened her mouth to say that it was more a case of Gareth joining them as they already had plans but Patsy was speaking before any sound emerged. He gazed at the blonde, attention rapt. 

‘It’s incredibly kind of you to allow me to accompany you, you must have so much to catch up on. And I know Delia is just dying to ask why you’re in London.’

‘Ah it’s quite the tale,’ said Gareth with a grin. ‘Shall we go?’

Settled a corner of Brucciani’s surrounded by the indistinct chatter of Saturday café patrons Delia began, finally, to relax. She felt the tension begin to drain from her a little like a shawl slipping from her shoulders. She still felt as if two entirely distinct parts of her life had collided, knocking her equilibrium from its axis and leaving her somewhat disconcerted, even uneasy, but she took a moment to properly register the scene in front of her. Patsy and Gareth, heads inclined towards one another, Gareth’s eyes wide and attentive whilst Patsy regaled him with her superb impression of matron until he guffawed and drew the attention of several diners at neighbouring tables. Patsy pressed her lips together, suddenly awkward and self-conscious and Delia took the opportunity to ask the question gnawing at her like a toothache. 

‘Why are you in London Gareth? There’s nothing the matter at home is there?’ 

‘Not unless you count Joe Taylor becoming a near permanent fixture at the bloody Sunday dinner table,’ replied Gareth, before a look of horror cast its shadow across his face. ‘Beg your pardon, Patsy. I meant no offence.’

‘Absolutely none taken,’ said Patsy warmly, stealing an amused look at Delia to see how she was taking the slight that she required no apology for the expletive. Delia however, looked troubled. Her brow was creased in concern. Her eyes still fixed on Gareth. 

‘Is Gwen ok?’ The question sounded sharper than intended and Delia winced a little. Patsy tilted her head, her eyebrows raised in question before she looked back at Gareth for the response. He rubbed his chin; a slight rasp of callused finger against a fragment of stubble clearly missed when shaving.

‘She’s fine Delia. You know. Does her own thing.’ 

Delia gave a tight-lipped smile. She still felt desperately uneasy whenever she thought about her closest friend and the monkeyish boy from school who had grown into an ape-like mechanic and fractured the happy triumvirate she, Gareth and Gwen had always shared. Delia suddenly felt a very long way from home, the café, London and her place in this world seemed alien and for a moment her jaw clenched and a tightness in her chest forced her to move her gaze from Gareth’s face, so very like that of his twin. She found a pair of blue eyes staring in concern on the other side of the table. Patsy’s eyebrows lifted a fraction of an inch in silent question and Delia’s chest filled with warmth at the affection of her new friend. It wasn’t hard to respond with a smile and Delia found herself fighting an urge to reach across the table and squeeze Patsy’s hand where it rested, fingers splayed to steady her teacup. It was Patsy that broke the eye-contact first, looking back at Gareth who had once again shifted his gaze to Patsy. 

‘So, do tell us then, why the adventure to the big smoke?’

‘I’m here for a wedding. My friend Trefor; his brother Alun, he’s getting married see? To a London girl. And Trefor and me, well we play in a sort of folk band and we’re playing at this wedding somewhere in the East End. Apparently, it was cheaper on a Sunday, the vicar’s doing the family some deal and we’re the entertainment. The family paid my train fare and I get a trip to London. It was all a bit last minute. I think maybe they need to get spliced smartish like' 

Gareth flushed at the implication. Delia’s eyes widened and she looked at Gareth in amazement. She looked across at Patsy who was smiling back at her. 

‘You mean I nearly had a heart attack because you are playing your fiddle?’ 

‘Squeezebox Delia, Trefor plays the fiddle.’ Gareth was slightly indignant though it faded immediately. ‘Though I am sorry if I had you worried, I just thought it’d be nice to see you while I was here.’

Patsy startled them both by suddenly clapping her hands together. Delia stared at her, Patsy’s face was lit with uncharacteristic glee.

‘Oh I have had the most splendid idea.’ 

‘Pats?’ 

‘You know Jeanie has been beside herself about the lack of proper music at the end of basic event?’ Patsy ploughed on, before Delia could answer. ‘Wouldn’t it be marvellous if Gareth and, er…’

‘Trefor,’ interjected Gareth helpfully.

‘Yes! Marvellous if Gareth and Trevor could play this evening?’ Patsy looked directly at Delia, triumph in her voice. Gareth face was split by a grin. 

‘In the nurses’ home?’ Delia’s incredulity was obvious, acid dripped from her words like vinegar, souring the moment. Patsy however, was not to be dissuaded. 

‘I’m sure Matron would allow it. We’ll be supervised the entire time. By all accounts Gareth already has Matron eating out of his hand. It’s worth a try. It’d be such fun.’

Delia’s mind was spinning. She imagined the idea come to reality and cringed at the gossip Gareth’s presence in her home would generate. However, she knew that Patsy’s idea was, indeed, a very good one and that Jeanie – and the entire set – would be thrilled. Delia nodded her acquiescence and Gareth and Patsy shared a long smile before Patsy pushed back her chair and excused herself for a moment. Delia played with the used cutlery on the plate in front her, pushing the heavy handles of the knife and fork with her forefinger. She felt Gareth’s enthusiasm, it radiated off him even before he spoke. 

‘She’s amazing Delia,’ he said warmly.’ Delia snapped her head up, looked him full in the face. Tried to read the expression in his smile and eyes. She felt a resentful pang strike her like a sucker punch. Her head twitched to one side. She didn’t speak. Gareth’s tone was light when he continued but his words had weight. 

‘Delia Busby, are you jealous? Be fair, you’ve told me often enough you’re not the girl for me.’ He paused, licked his lips hesitantly. ‘Has she got a feller?’ 

Delia felt sick. Her stomach turned. Confusion rolled over her. With a frightening, dawning realisation she recognised that it was Patsy’s friendship of which she was covetous and possessive. The idea of Patsy and Gareth together, exclusive of her presence, sent a blaze of unbidden anger through her entire body like a match struck and flaring in the dark. 

‘Not as far as I know.’


	12. Worse than Forty Fights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First Delia, and then Patsy, struggle with emotion as basic training comes to an end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always thanks for the notes of encouragement - they are much appreciated.

The walk back to nurses’ accommodation was quiet torture for Delia. Gareth had proffered both his arms to link with the two women and it seemed churlish to refuse. His broad body exuded body heat and kindliness and Delia was lost in thoughts of how it might be if her handsome childhood friend won the heart of her poised, graceful colleague. 

Back at the nurses’ home Gareth was again ushered into the matron’s office and arrangements quickly made. If Trefor agreed, then Gareth was to return later that evening to be a part of the girls’ celebrations for the end of basic training. Patsy was cock-a-hoop as she sought out Jeanie but Delia quietly slipped away craving stillness and silence. 

‘Out with it Busby!’ ordered Patsy as she strode, without knocking, into Delia’s room. She stood just inside the door, fixing Delia with a determined stare, eyebrows raised quizzically, her hands clasped together before her, fingers interlaced in a show of patience that did not fool the Welshwoman. With a visceral jolt Delia recognised just how much she had come to know Patsy, her idiosyncrasies and mannerisms. She wondered, as she looked back at the waiting, self-possessed Patsy, how she had come to feel so much so quickly. Even with her sizeable capacity for warmth, sincerity and emotional honesty she felt baffled by the powerful maelstrom of her feelings. Aware of Patsy’s unflinching gaze Delia sat up the edge of her bed and met Patsy’s eyes properly and hoped fervently that her eyes did not betray the tempest of jealous grief that was surging through her and threatening to overwhelm. 

‘What?’

‘You’ve been like a bear with a particularly awful migraine since lunchtime.’ Patsy approached the bed and sat down, inches away from Delia, their bodies inevitably inclining towards one another as the mattress sagged beneath them. Delia pouted, a flash of indignation flared in her but subsided and she found she had nothing to say. Patsy looked at her in concern. The silence began to stretch but still Delia didn’t speak. A hard marble of emotion was lodged in her larynx and she swallowed aggressively and a sigh escaped, catching her unawares. 

‘Are you worried about what the girls will say about Gareth being here, given that most of them have already married you off?’ The tone of Patsy’s voice had shifted, it was lower, quieter and considerate. 

‘Partly, yes,’ confessed Delia, equally as quietly. 

I’ll be with you all evening. It’s time to celebrate Deels. We made it.’ Patsy nudged Delia with her shoulder. She sat up, resting her hands behind her before mimicking a voice now known very well to the both of them. ‘The hardest weeks of your lives gals.’ Delia smiled, her dimples showing briefly in her cheeks. 

When the two women entered the recreation room Matron was already showing Gareth and Trefor where they must sit, away from the main body of the room, to observe from a quiet corner until their time came. Smaller than Gareth and with short, carefully managed hair in complete contrast to his friend’s unruly ginger mop, Trefor stood diffidently before the matron. He recognised Delia immediately however and flicked his foot at Gareth’s ankle and nodded over the shoulder of the clucking senior nurse in the direction of Delia and Patsy as they took their seats. Gareth grinned and waved, earning an audible tut from Matron before she moved to speak to one of the house sisters who was manning a long trestle table laid out with jugs of watered down squash, dandelion and burdock, lemonade and Vimto.  
The room filled rapidly and Delia couldn’t help but smile at the attention garnered by the very presence of the two boys she’d known since she was five. Trefor was clearly enjoying every second, winking theatrically every time a girl caught his eye like a second-rate music hall act but Delia noted Gareth’s more discomforted situation. He had always struggled in larger crowds and Delia’s chest constricted as she realised it was a trait he shared with the smartly dressed blonde to her left. She buried the thought as she felt Patsy’s fingers warm on her arm and followed her friend’s nod to the door where Jane was manoeuvring an anatomical skeletal model into the room. A dinner jacket hung around the shoulders and a bowtie was fastened awkwardly to the clavicle.

‘Prince Phillp’s in attendance,’ called Jane, laughing as she wrestled him forwards, the yellowed bones clattering together as if in an entirely uncoordinated dance-macabre. Gareth leapt to his feet and gallantly began to help. He grasped the right hand of the model and gave it an ostentatious shake.

‘He can come and sit with the other boys, can’t you, er, Phil? We’re still totally outnumbered.’ 

Jane grinned and smoothed down her clothes. 

‘I’ll be sure to come and check on you both later,’ she said demurely over her shoulder as she made to find a seat and Delia saw Gareth turn scarlet as he grappled with the uncoordinated, swinging limbs of the skeleton before he retook his own chair. Patsy had also been watching and she leant close to Delia’s ear.

‘I think Gareth has a fan.’

Delia looked at Patsy sharply, looking for any sign of jealousy or ill-temper but Patsy looked completely at ease, a half smile playing round her full lips, made up with a deep, rich lipstick.

Despite herself, Delia found herself enjoying the evening immensely. The night was filled with laughter and a huge sense of release and it was after 9pm when Jeanie clambered onto the make shift stage of linen trunks purloined from some unknown part of the hospital and thanked all of the performers made up from the eclectic ranks of the trainee nurses. She raised her hands and with palms outwards to the crowd in a request for quiet she continued. 

‘And now for a real treat, we have some live music from Jones and Williams, also known as Gareth and Trevor. As you know Matron has put curfew back until 11pm so we can enjoy the night for longer.’

Spontaneous applause filled the recreation room and many of the girls squealed in delight as the two men hopped up on the stage and after some shifting around of chairs and tables there was a reasonable space to watch and dance. After nine long weeks it was a relief to relax properly and Delia felt a surge of pride in Gareth as his rich, deep voice filled the high ceilinged room. She laughed aloud, her eyes sparkling and her cheeks split with deep dimples when Gareth sang a deeply parodic version of Deryn y bwn and she felt Patsy take her hand very briefly and squeeze. She stilled as the taller woman leaned towards her and put her lips against Delia’s ear to tell her how glad she was she was having a good time. Delia looked into Patsy’s deep, expressive blue eyes and her smile grew even wider. Patsy smiled back, her head tipped slightly to the right, looking entirely relaxed. Delia became aware of the music ending and Gareth’s familiar voice rang out across the room like a representative at a trade union meeting; loud, strident and very Welsh. 

‘We’re not done yet ladies. But we thought a few sing-a-long numbers might be a treat.’ He shifted the strap of his melodeon and grinned broadly. ‘What do you reckon?’

Delia rolled her eyes at his obvious manipulation of the crowd of young women but she froze in total horror as he continued and the crowd hollered their approval. 

‘We want you all to join in but I know only one voice who can do this particular song justice. Ladies, I give you; Delia Busby.’ He raised his hands away from the keys and buttons of his instrument to indicate applause towards the small, stock still brunette in the middle of the room. She began to shake her head, felt her shoulders slump a little under the focussed gaze of so many eyes. She shot Gareth a look of fury as she frantically thought of a way out. Trefor plucked at the strings of his fiddle to fashion the sound of a parodic countdown. Many of the girls’ voices raised in loud encouragement, urging her to get on the stage. Delia felt rather than saw Patsy at her shoulder. 

‘Go on old thing, I don’t think you’ve got much choice.’

As she reached the makeshift stage and made to clamber up Gareth reached out an arm. Delia felt her forearm in his strong grip and she closed her own fingers around the firm muscles that stood out in her friend’s arm so she could spring onto the stage beside him. As she drew level with his shoulder Delia turned her head and muttered towards his ear so that nobody else could hear. 

‘I’m going to kill you Gareth Jones.’ Gareth laughed. Delia heard a couple of the girls coo, presumably reading the exchange as a moment of love. ‘What are we doing?’

‘Cholera?’ It was framed as a question but Delia knew the drill, she had sung a number of times with the boys; the memory of impromptu summer parties and long, late gatherings in farm outbuildings during school holidays came flooding back to her as she turned to the assembled company and stood, rather diffidently now the audience were her nursing peers and not her childhood friends. 

The jaunty intro began. It had always amused Delia that Kipling’s poem with its tragic lyrics had become such a jovial song and she revelled in its infectious, repetitious notes before she heard her cue. The fiddle fell silent and the only noise in the room was a single note from Gareth’s melodeon. 

‘There’s the cholera in camp, and it’s worse than forty fights.’ Delia’s voice was pure, clear, and fresh. The weight of performance nerves which had hung heavy on her like a grey blanket was swept away as she settled into the rhythm. 

‘And we’re dying in the wilderness, the same as Israelites.’ Delia looked sideways at Gareth who was smiling at her, his fingers working furiously at the squeezebox and she smiled back. She gazed out into the crowd seeking Patsy’s face. 

‘It’s before us and behind us, and we cannot get away. And the doctor’s just reported we’ve ten more today!’

Delia’s eyes locked with Patsy’s for a moment before the latter looked away and wrapped her arms around her upper body. A change came over Delia’s voice as she looked into the distressed eyes of the tall blonde. The confidence faltered. Whilst the face of every other person in the room registered delight and pleasure in the simple music, Delia was now fixated on Patsy’s obvious distress. The older woman was biting down on the inside of her cheek, her lips pressed firmly together in a battle to maintain composure. 

Delia was startled suddenly by Gareth calling out beside her. His jollity completely at odds with the grief wracked countenance on which Delia was trying to focus. 

‘Join in if you know the chorus.’

A few voices, hesitant and awkward, sprang up in unison as Delia stumbled through the next lines. 

‘Oh, strike your camp and go, the bugle’s calling.’ Delia tried to catch Patsy’s eye long enough to let her know she had registered her distraction. ‘The rains are falling,’ intoned Delia in perfect time but her resolve was wavering. 

‘The dead are bushed an' stoned to keep 'em safe below.’

With an abrupt swivel on the balls of her feet Patsy turned from the improvised stage, her arms still enveloping her. She dipped her head slightly and pushed her way through the thronged room. Delia's head swam, all focus on the lyrics completely lost. The music stuttered for no more than a heartbeat, Trefor’s fiddle playing a rare discordant note as Delia’s eyes followed Patsy’s retreating head in the crowd. Delia didn’t hesitate again. 

She dropped from the stage and in the stance of a fighter she moved through the crowd ignoring the muttered complaints and complete shock from the remainder of the room. As she reached the door Delia heard Gareth’s voice, strong and clear over the mumbled expressions of surprise; re-establishing the music and the general mood. 

‘The bands are doing all they can to cheer us.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There has been a little dramatic licence here with the use of the Rudyard Kipling poem which I knew had been turned into a folk song. Whilst the poem would have been widely known in the 1950s it appears that the folk setting was not done until much later. Forgive the anachronism though it isn't impossible that it was sung earlier. With thanks to Bellowhead for the idea of a jaunty tune with these lyrics. I have added a link to a very shaky version of the song from YouTube - might well be like Delia, Gareth and Trefor's performance (with slightly more instruments!)  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mRsslyQuT-o


	13. I'm Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delia offers comfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a surprisingly difficult chapter to write. I really hope it hasn't tipped into melodrama! And more than anything I hope that I have retained something of the characters that Delia and Patsy would later become. I am mindful of the fact that here they are young, inexperienced, have not known each other long and are dealing with a whole lot of stuff that's resolved,to a certain extent, by the time we 'meet them'. I hope I have done them justice.

Delia wasn’t expecting the coolness of the corridor after the oppressive noise and body heat of the party. She reeled slightly as the door shuddered back into its jamb and reached a flat palm to the cream wall. She steadied herself, felt the sheen of perspiration on her cheeks and wiped it away with the back of her hand.  
‘On ten deaths a day,’ came Gareth’s muffled voice through the door, the pace of the song picking up now. The lyrics jolted Delia into a painful reminder of why she had fled the room. Patsy. 

Delia’s stomach churned, the acidic bite of the Vimto she had drunk nipped repeatedly, threatening to rise in a tide of nervous bile. She moved quickly, her heart hammered but she wasn’t sure if that was the rapidity of her movement or the anxiety at how she might find her friend. If she found her. 

Within minutes Delia was stood outside the stark, utilitarian door to Patsy’s room. For the second time in as many days she was faced with the terror of what lay behind one of the blank wood entrances that made up so much of the labyrinthine corridors of Delia’s life. She reached out and laid her hands flat against the smooth veneer of the particleboard. She closed her eyes, drew her right hand into a fist and hesitated. Instead of knocking she pushed the flesh of her forefinger into her lips. She tasted the hint of salt from her earlier wipe of her cheek, opened her mouth, allowed the flesh to creep between her lips, bit down gently on the skin. She heard a distant, muted cheer from the party and her hands fell to her sides. Her muttered call to arms was louder than she anticipated when it escaped her lips. 

‘Pull yourself together Busby.’

She rapped quickly on the door. No answer. 

‘Pats?’ No answer. 

She seized the door handle, pushed it, leant her weight against the resistance of the wood. When she entered, her eyes fell immediately on the bed. Patsy sat upright, straight back against the headboard with its thick struts, legs drawn up and arms hugging her long, slender legs towards her body. Her face was pale, the same hue as magnolia, whilst her eyes, tired of tears were puffed and red. 

Delia threw the door shut and hurried to the bed. Without waiting for any invitation the brunette sat down at the head of the bed. She reached out, instinct above all else drove her. Her right arm drew Patsy close and she reached her left arm around her friend’s middle, the leaden weight of Patsy’s head fell against a shoulder and the taller woman’s body was engulfed by sobs. 

‘It’s okay. I’m here,’ murmured Delia into the blonde curls that Patsy had so carefully tended to just hours earlier, but which had now separated into dishevelled fronds that clung to the exposed skin of both women. Delia moved her hand, cupped the smooth curve of the back of Patsy’s head, the hair soft against her palm. 

‘Bushed and stoned,’ said Patsy flatly. Delia felt hot breath against her collarbone.

‘What’s that, Pats?’ asked Delia carefully.

‘In the song, you sang, about bodies being bushed and stoned. That’s what they did. In the camp. They buried people with rocks on their chest. So the monsoons didn’t just wash them back to the surface.’ Delia felt Patsy’s swallow, hard, repressing the tide of emotion that was threatening to engulf her. ‘It’s what they did to my mother. And my little sister.’ 

Delia’s core muscles contracted as if Patsy had landed a vicious punch to her middle. She pulled Patsy even closer, their awkward position made the action uncomfortable and Delia edged herself even further onto the bed. Patsy made no protest. She lay, leaden against Delia’s petite shoulder, her face resting in the curve of the trapezius where Delia could just feel the cold damp tip of her friend’s nose. Delia closed her eyes against the enormity of what Patsy had just said, shifting her chin only slightly she pressed her lips against Patsy’s hair with a lightness she hoped was imperceptible. 

‘I’m here now,’ she repeated, her words buried in Patsy’s hair. The entire lexicon felt inadequate.

‘It wasn’t cholera,’ said Patsy, slightly louder, Delia’s head raced against the apparent non-sequitur. The silence span out, unravelling them both; Patsy into a past of grief and unspoken hurt and Delia into the silent retreat of the exiled, separated by time, fortune and anxiety about misapprehensions from Patsy’s history.  
Delia felt Patsy shift her lower jaw, bite her bottom lip. 

‘It was typhus fever.’ The words were venomous, spat out. When she spoke again her voice was quiet, defeated, bitterness, like brine, washed every word. ‘I watched it happen. Day by hideous day. I prayed to a God that wasn’t there to make it stop. To take me instead.’ Patsy whimpered against the effort of confession. ‘She was so little Deels. She just faded away. She told me she wanted to play but she was too tired. She told me she wanted me to make it stop. And I couldn’t. Everywhere I looked people were dying. But not me. I just kept on living.’

‘Yes,’ whispered Delia, ‘you did.’ She gently disengaged herself from the embrace they had found themselves awkwardly locked into. She sensed Patsy’s tension, realised that the blonde was expecting a measured withdrawal from her past. Delia raised both her hands to Patsy’s cheekbones re-establishing the contact. Her thumbs wiped against Patsy’s cheeks, a broad brushstroke of comfort. Fear, surprise, uncertainty swam in Patsy’s swollen eyes. 

‘I’m so sorry that I made you relive that Pats. I’m so sorry.’ 

Delia felt Patsy push her face half an inch closer, into the smooth warmth of Delia’s hands. Then, abruptly, she raised her own hands from her legs, covered Delia’s fingers with her own and gently removed them from her face. She held onto the digits for a moment, Delia felt a gentle pressure force her fingers together.

‘No, Deels.’ Patsy’s eyes were wide, awash with tears now unshed, ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be telling you all this. I don’t talk about this…’

As her words trailed away Delia felt the chill of air as Patsy dropped her hands and she felt a flash of impotent rage. She wanted to rail against Patsy’s withdrawal. She knew that she could not. 

‘It’s not fair. You should be with the others.’ Patsy looked into Delia’s eyes, the cobalt gazed back at her. ‘Oh heavens Delia, what about Gareth?’

‘What about him?’ asked Delia, fighting to keep the tremulous edge from her voice. 

‘You should be looking after him, not here with me.’

‘There is nowhere else I want to be.’


	14. Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delia is in serious trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully there is slightly less angst here but I have had to split the chapter. I seem incapable of being able to judge how long it will take to tell the story properly! This means that the planned fluff will need to wait a little longer (but that Gareth lives to fight another day away from his detractors here :) Poor ole Gareth!).  
> There is quite a bit of exposition here but I hope it serves to also glimpse how Delia reacts to things.

Delia watched a point of sunlight hit the wall and its shard climb inexorably; it must be quite late if the room was getting light. She screwed up her eyes and eventually closed them. An insistent drum beat of discomfort throbbed behind her eyes and her back felt stiff and uncomfortable. She became acutely aware of a warmth on her right side in direct contrast to the goose-pimpled flesh creeping across much of the rest of her body. She rolled her neck before opening her eyes again. Her gaze fell on the sleeping form of Patsy Mount, blonde hair even more tousled than the previous evening. Both women lay in the clothes of the party, both on top of the taupe bedspread. 

‘Oh!’ said Delia, startled. She made to sit up but slipped slightly in the narrow confines of half a single bed. The disturbance was enough to rouse Patsy who opened her eyes to see Delia’s back sliding off the counterpane and heard a muffled thud as the shorter woman hit the carpet. 

‘What are you doing Deels?’ was the unhelpful response that dropped from Patsy’s lips before she had time to check herself and Delia paused on her hands and knees and gave Patsy a withering look, causing the latter to bite her lip in remorse. 

‘Possibly about to lose my place at the London’ whispered Delia furiously, still poised on her knees, resting her weight on her hands. ‘How the hell did we fall asleep? Matron is going to actually kill me. Gareth will be taking me back to Pembrokshire in an undertaker’s cart.’

Patsy rolled her eyes as Delia readjusted her weight and scrambled to her feet. Her dress was creased and she put a tentative hand to her hair where last night’s bun was still serving to gather most of her hair on top of her head. She let out an audible groan. Patsy sat up fully.

‘Come on now Delia, sometimes you have to engage the stiff upper lip and just buckle down and face what’s coming. Right now we don’t know if anybody has even missed you or noticed that you weren’t in your bed.’

Delia felt a blush creep upwards from the collar of her dress as Patsy continued. 

‘If Matron does want to speak to you then I can absolutely vouch for your whereabouts all night and the reasons for your absence. Now look ship-shape and go and get dressed.’ 

Delia gave the briefest of smiles before she began to leave. About halfway to the door she paused and turned, met Patsy’s gaze as it was watching her depart. Her voice was low, rich with care.

‘How are you feeling?’ 

‘Oh first rate old thing.’ 

Delia held the eye contact. The dread fear that was pummelling her stomach abated for a moment and her emotions were flooded by a sense of frustration and horror. She wanted to challenge the deliberate emotional distance but felt, yet again, utterly inadequate in the moment whilst knowing that she had to face the consequences of missing curfew and that was currently more pressing. She searched for a suitable reply, aching to re-establish the closeness of the previous evening. She had no idea how to respond. She turned from Patsy and slipped quietly out of the door.

She almost wept with gratitude when she reached her own room without encountering another person. She gazed at herself in the mirror and disappointed fury saturated her mind. She could think of nothing but how angry she was at allowing this to happen. It was a pure rage; she felt her muscles contract and a distinct burn rise her up oesophagus. She looked at the reflection with a level stare. 

‘You utter fool,’ she muttered in contempt for the girl staring icily back. Delia jumped back from the glass with a start when a sharp rap came at the door. She looked hopelessly down at her attire. 

‘Come in,’ she called. 

The door opened and Jane crept in, her face flushed and embarrassed. 

‘Sorry Delia.’ Jane’s eyes ranged over Delia’s rumpled state. ‘Oh goodness, look at you.’ 

‘Can I help you Jane?’ asked Delia, fighting a desperate urge to give up on social niceties entirely. Her voice was tight and a new anxiety clawed its way across her chest. She folded her arms, pulling her elbows sharply towards her body. 

‘Oh yes, Matron’s terribly exercised about something or other this morning and she wants to see you in her office as soon as possible. She’s already had a conversation with Jeanie. On a Sunday too!’ 

Delia closed her eyes. Exhaustion washed over her and the pain, fear, anger bled away until she felt preternaturally calm. She hated conflict; had always been the passive one at home and at school, far better to stay quiet to keep the peace even when personal injustice was likely. Yet here, in her own room, 250miles away from everything she had ever known Delia felt an almost palpable shift in her attitude.

‘Thanks Jane. I’ll be there soon.’

Even before Jane had pulled the door into its frame Delia was reaching round to slide the celluloid zipper of her dress apart so she could step out of the creases and then out of her girdle which was now digging in uncomfortably to her sides. She contented herself with a brief stand-up wash by the sink and selected a warm, woolly jumper and a comfortable skirt. Calmly, methodically, she brushed her hair, watching the sheen return in the mirror before she gathered it together in a ponytail that bounced just above her neckline. 

‘You’ll do Busby, you’ll do,’ muttered Delia.

As Delia approached the Matron’s door for the third time in two days she marvelled at the range of emotions she had felt outside this unremarkable entrance. This time there was no Patsy to play the white knight. Delia raised her hand and tapped her knuckles sharply. After the equally sharp rejoinder to enter Delia stepped inside and found herself looking at the carpet in front of her feet, her hands clasped together, the edge of Matron’s desk just in eyeline. She had never noticed that Matron’s office was carpeted when all of the other rooms connected to training were the same dull linoleum. This inane reverie was interrupted in predictably acerbic fashion. The warmth Delia had perceived in Matron as she spoke to Gareth the previous day was vanished entirely. 

‘Quite frankly Miss Busby I am extremely disappointed. It has come to my attention that not only did you miss curfew last night you failed entirely to inhabit your own room – at all. These rules, Miss Busby, are in place to protect you; to protect your reputation, your safety and the future of your career. That is why you are here isn’t it Miss Busby? Your career?’ 

Delia looked up. Found the Matron looking directly at her. 

‘Yes, more than anything.’

The older nurse’s face softened at the fear, and sincerity, in Delia’s voice.

‘I have sensed that – that you have the makings of a quite excellent nurse. It is however, utterly senseless to throw that away after a night of partying. You are extremely fortunate given that your young man was on the premises that I escorted Mr Jones and his friend from the building myself at the cessation of the gathering last night. Therefore, your reputation on that front is wholly intact. So, this is your opportunity to explain.’

Delia’s eyes widened. She had not considered what Matron was insinuating. She was relieved that the charge was not greater but was certain that the truth was so entirely Patsy’s that she felt unable to elucidate fully. 

‘I really am sorry Matron. I was with Patience Mount. We lost track of time talking in her room and I must have fallen asleep. It wasn’t intentional.’  
‘Mmmmm,’ said Matron, Delia assumed that in truth she had been seen fleeing after Patsy and that her superior knew that this had likely been the cause of the Welsh girl’s absence. ‘Sadly Miss Busby I have no option but to mark this on your record and inform you that you will be fined and that fine will be taken directly from your wages. Do you understand? From this point onwards you are Nurse Busby – make sure that means something.’

Delia nodded. 

When she stepped into the corridor she exhaled heavily. As she turned to head back to her room she found Patsy, leaning against the opposite wall a little further along, one long leg bent at the knee and flattened foot against the pale paintwork. Over her arm Patsy had draped two outdoor coats, Delia immediately recognised her own. 

‘Hello you,’ said Patsy softy, ‘I thought you might want breakfast.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am aware that Delia waking up in Patsy's room has been 'done' in other first meet fics; I hope that this is sufficiently different to continue to be my telling - with thanks to all those who have come before me!


	15. A Life to Live

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delia struggles with the consequences of her actions. Patsy is keen to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to say another heartfelt thank you to everybody who has said nice things about this fic. It means a great deal that so many people are reading it. We all need a bit of fictional escapism; mine happens to be CTM based. I'm enjoying writing them and I am so glad that some other people are enjoying reading about them.

‘You angel’ said Delia, a grateful smile just turning up the corners of her mouth. 

‘Was it ghastly?’ asked Patsy, her eyebrows raised and her head tilted slightly towards Delia who had taken her coat, shrugged it on and fallen in alongside Patsy as they made their way out of the nurses’ home.

‘Can I tell you after you have bought me a coffee?’

‘Cripes,’ Patsy’s face contorted as she bit her cheek. ‘Was it really that awful? One does feel somewhat responsible.’ 

Delia stopped for a moment, she laid her hand on Patsy’s arm and looked at the taller woman full in the face. They were stood by the inner door of the hall, Patsy’s long fingers rested on the latch to the outside world.

‘No. Patsy. My decision to follow you last night. My fault I managed to fall asleep on you. I appreciate the sentiment but as I said last night I wanted to be there. Don’t you dare blame yourself. It’s me I am furious with.’

Patsy pushed on the door and was just about to reply when the two women felt the bite of the early winter air and breath was temporarily stolen by the sharp easterly, she glanced back, smiling, as they trotted down the few steps to the street and was surprised to see Delia’s gaze fall beyond her shoulder. 

‘Bore dar, Delia.’

Delia noticed Patsy pirouette on the balls of her feet to locate the source of the greeting, felt the awkwardness flicker in the air like static. Gareth stood leaning against the stone wall that fronted the nurses’ home and where stubs of iron railing, removed in the war and never replaced, poked through like seedlings. His face was set, his tone was icier that Delia could remember.

‘I’ve been waiting. I was hoping you might head out for a stroll see, you never could stay at home on a Sunday!’

Delia looked at the face of the young man below her, an apology forming on her lips but not quite coming.

‘Gareth.’

Gareth wrinkled his nose. His nostrils flared slightly as he met Delia’s gaze with a level look that wreaked of hurt. 

‘I thought you had a wedding to go to?’ asked Delia, confused.

Gareth gave a hollow laugh as Delia went and joined him by the absent railings. Patsy remained a step higher, her hands clasped together in front of her buttoned coat, her gaze drifting diffidently about her, attempting to avoid the intimacy of the unfolding conversation. 

‘I do. I’m off there shortly, Don’t worry. I know how things are now, see?’ 

‘What do you mean?’ Delia fought valiantly to keep the tremor from her voice but failed. ‘Gareth? Gareth, I’m sorry. I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to leave you last night. I thought you were happy with Trefor and the other girls.’ 

The catch in Delia’s voice was obvious. Gareth’s face and tone softened. 

‘I came all the way to London to see you Delia Busby and then I get a chance to show you off and you run from the room.’

‘You came for a wedding, fool.’

Delia pushed him lightly on the arm with two fingers. He smiled the broad, goofy grin that Delia knew so well and she felt her own face break into a smile. Gareth looked down at her, he placed his fingertips on her elbows. Patsy looked away as the pair looked into one another’s eyes. 

‘I felt stood up last night Delia. You’re my friend and there I am in front of all your new fancy pals and where are you? Eh? Chasing after the one girl I told you I might actually want to spend a bit of time with.’ There was a smile in Gareth’s voice as he finished. ‘Uffern dam Delia.’

Delia winced and looked up briefly at her blonde companion. Patsy’s gaze had switched from its conscious indifference to rapt attention and fallen fully on Gareth’s face which was slowly turning a shade of magenta, only exacerbated by his unruly ginger mop, spreading at several angles over his furrowed forehead. Realising what he had said he turned to meet Patsy’s gaze. Her look of bewilderment only created more consternation in his face. His voice when it emerged was the low hum of controlled rage, the warmer tone vanished.

‘Delia, you didn’t even tell her?’

Delia gave a near imperceptible shake of her head. She bit down hard on her lip and closed her eyes against the stares of both of her friends. Patsy spoke first. 

‘It’s all been a bit of a whirl these last few days.’

Delia shot her a grateful smile. Gareth narrowed his eyes and looked between the two of them. 

‘I’m starting to think.... Oh I don't know, perhaps you don’t want any of us to be happy. What is it Delia, can’t you bear the thought of somebody else finding a bit of romance? You were the same when Gwen started courting Joe. You said Patsy was your friend, I’m meant to be your friend. Why didn’t you tell her?’

Delia stood on the street, the wind now causing a biting chill to run through her and she visibly shivered. Her tongue felt thick and immobile, it pressed against the roof of her mouth but still no words came. With a snort of frustration Gareth saved her from a reply by turning his shoulders from Delia to Patsy. 

‘I was thinking I might take you up the West End next time I was in London.’ 

Delia cringed inwardly. Patsy beamed at Gareth. 

‘That sounds delightful. I’m sure if Deels and I are free we’d love to join you.’

Gareth looked at her. He narrowed his eyes attempting to ascertain if she was being as obtuse as he suspected. Her face was impassive, she smiled at him and then shot a reassuring glance at Delia who had pressed her finger and thumb into her eyes and was now gazing glass-eyed at the two friends before her. 

‘That would be great.’ Gareth’s voice was tight, defeated. He put his hand to his forehead and rubbed before moving his fingers to his chin and tugging at a beard growth that wasn’t there. There was a long moment of silence. ‘I better head off. Don’t want to let Trefor down.’ 

‘No,’ said Delia quietly, her voice betraying how close she was to tears. ‘Tell him hello from me. I thought you were both very good last night. The girls seemed to love you.’

‘Not all the girls Delia. Not all of them,’ muttered Gareth, dejected. ‘I’ll see you soon.’ 

‘I’ll write this week,’ Delia called after him as he disappeared into the thin crowd of Sunday pedestrians on Whitechapel Road. He didn’t look back. Delia groped for the wall, both hands splayed and she leant her weight forward, convinced for a moment that she was going to collapse. Patsy was next to her within a second. She reached out a tentative arm, hesitated, let it drop to her side and spoke instead. 

‘Come on Delia. Buck up old thing. Let’s get you that coffee. I believe Bruce is trialling some exotic Italian concoctions.’ 

‘Let’s hope they have single malt in them,’ muttered Delia, pushing herself away from the wall, straightening up and blinking back the remaining unshed tears. Her heart sat like a leaden weight in her chest and she shook her head to clear the fractured thoughts as Patsy began walking towards Brucciani’s. 

Settled in a quiet corner of the cafe amongst the jumbled chatter of weekend patrons Delia tried to master her emotions. Patsy had placed a rather disconcerting beige coloured drink in front of her, cheerfully declared it a cappuccino and perfect for a milk lover like Delia. 

‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Gareth,’ said Delia, awkwardly. Her shoulders slumped slightly and she chewed her lip. 

‘Don’t think twice about it.’ Delia gave a small relieved sigh, hearing the warmth in her friend’s voice. She sounded almost amused as she continued, leaning forward in faux conspiratorial fashion. ‘He’s not really my type Deels.’

‘Thank you,’ said Delia, somewhat surprising herself with the deluge of respite the reply gave her from her panicked emotions. When she spoke again, believing her words to be a half-truth she realised their veracity. ‘I don’t know why I didn’t tell you.’

‘What happened with matron?’ asked Patsy carefully. Changing the subject and placing the tea strainer over her cup for her own, rather more conventional, drink. 

Delia pressed her lips together and looked at Patsy’s concerned face. 

‘No more talk of you being responsible okay?’

Patsy nodded. 

‘I got a brief dressing down and a fine. And it’s going on my record. So whatever happens don’t let me fall asleep on you again.’ Delia felt a flush race across her cheeks and she inhaled quickly through her nose before she spoke again, looking pointedly down at the disappearing foam on her coffee. ‘There is a part of me that just wants to give in. My mother spends her letters warning me of the terrible evils I am exposing myself to, Gareth is furious, I haven’t heard from Gwen in over a week and now Matron is chalking me up as some sort of rebel. Perhaps I should just accept it. Perhaps this was a terrible mistake and I should head back to Wales. Maybe I need to live the life everybody else wants for me.’

‘Not everybody Deels.’ Patsy’s voice was slightly deeper than usual and Delia looked up to see Patsy looking directly at her, taking in a huge lungful of smoke and exhaling sideways. She pressed her lips together and gave a curt nod. 

‘Pats,’ began Delia, before the taller woman continued. 

‘You’re going to make a first-rate nurse Busby. And you are strong, determined, clever. God knows I have let others dictate my life for me at times. I would never want that for you.’ Patsy cast her eyes down at the ashtray and pushed her spent cigarette into the centre with a jab. She looked back at the watching Delia. ‘And anyway, somebody has to teach you to sew.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't remember if Delia ever drinks coffee in CTM, I seem to remember only ever seeing her with tea but the idea of Patsy buying her a milky coffee just seemed so apt after I heard a piece on Radio4 about the rise of the 'trendy' Italian drinks in the 1950s. My grandmother worked in Brucciani's and I rather like the idea that Patsy and Delia might have had their fledgling romance in the corner!


	16. Equal Measure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patsy wants to treat Delia to some quality time off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am absolutely over-whelmed by the number of people reading this and telling me that they are enjoying it. I am taking advantage of a very brief lull in work to update more regularly before absolute craziness starts in a couple of weeks. It remains an absolute pleasure to write these two great female characters.  
> I felt like they needed a break after a few angsty chapters so this is hopefully a little fluffy respite!

‘Is it possible for you to check the roster and see if you have Saturday off?’ asked Patsy, suddenly looking up from the text book she was reading. She was sprawled on her front, her long legs kicking up at the knees and her ankles crossed behind her, stockinged feet waving. Delia raised her eyes from the notes she was making, sat in her usual revision spot on the high-backed chair in her room. 

‘Comfortable?’ she asked, teasingly. A ripple of guilt moved like a cloud across Patsy’s face. 

‘I’m sorry, do you want me to move?’ 

‘Not one iota, you look perfectly at home. I’m glad,’ said Delia, smiling. ‘If anything I am just jealous. After today I just wish I were on the bed.’ 

‘There’s room for two.’ Patsy’s face lit with her distinctive fish hook smile and she patted the counterpane with the flat of her hand.

‘I think you’ll find it’s my bed before you go offering it out to other people.’ 

‘Only you Deels, only you,’ laughed Patsy, dodging as Delia threw a pencil at her. ‘So, can you check about Saturday?’ 

‘I know I am off, well I have a late after an early on Friday so I can catch up on sleep and be free for the day on Saturday. Why?’

Patsy leant off the bed, balancing, her tongue poking out as she reached for the missile Delia had launched at her. Delia smiled. The action was so inelegant, completely incongruous to the everyday poise Patsy showed to the world; Delia had grown to love the contrast, enjoy the playful, the irritated, the downcast Patsy that she felt only she got to see. When the taller woman had regained her equilibrium, she tapped the pencil against her nose. 

‘You’ll see Busby.’

‘Well it has to be better than life in the sluice room. I didn’t know it was possible for the human body to produce so many fluids,’ grumbled Delia, screwing up her nose at the memory of her day on the ward. ‘It was only made bearable when Mr Waterson missed the bedpan entirely and poor old Ginny got a distinct splash.’ 

‘Delia Busby! I am shocked to my very core,’ laughed Patsy, deep dimples and blue eyes flashing. ‘I didn’t know you had it in you to be so cruel.’

‘I think schadenfreude is the only thing that’s going to get me through several weeks working with Virginia. That and weekends with you.’ 

Patsy grinned again.

‘I am not entirely sure how to take that but I’ll go with the spirit in which it was intended!’ 

Delia closed her notebook and placed it on the chair as she stood up. She moved to the bed and clambering up, lay her head down on the pillow at the opposite end to where Patsy’s head was propped up on her hands. The latter shunted herself over to make room as Delia lay sideways and rested her head on an arm, bent at the elbow.

‘It’s funny. A few days ago I was seriously thinking about jacking it all in. Going back to mam and tad. Now, after just a few days on the ward, I can’t imagine anywhere else being home. I don’t mean I don’t miss it, I do. The food mainly, oh and the green.’ Delia’s voice grew warm and Patsy smiled to the empty room to hear the Welsh accent thicken. ‘Pats the endless green is just beautiful. There are certain things I don’t suppose I will ever get used to about city life, but here, the London, it all sort of fits.’

Patsy looked back at her, she reached out and gave Delia’s foot a quick squeeze. 

‘I know what you mean.’ 

Delia woke early on Saturday morning, the fog of too many hours sleep difficult to lift. She had gone to bed at an inordinately early hour the previous day, determined that she should enjoy her day with Patsy and still be fresh for the night shift that was looming that evening. She lay still, gazing at the ceiling for a minute when a tentative knock came from the door. She stayed quiet until she heard Patsy’s distinctive, low voice. 

‘Deels, it’s me, can I come in?’

‘Yes!’ shouted Delia as the handle turned and Patsy appeared. 

‘Morning old thing.’ 

Delia propped herself up on bent elbows until the sheet and blanket fell to her waist. She blinked to clear the sleep from her eyes and focussed on the tall, graceful figure who was reaching behind her to push the door back into its frame. 

‘Pats, you look lovely, where on earth are we going?’ Delia stared at her friend. Her hair was perfectly styled, falling in smooth blonde ringlets to her shoulders which were covered by a hunter green cardigan beneath which Delia took in a burgundy dress, flecked with silver thread, that hugged Patsy’s figure as if it had been made to measure. In that moment, only barely aware that she was gaping, Delia wondered if it was made to measure. 

‘You don’t look too bad yourself,’ joked Patsy, her mouth turning up in her lopsided smile. 

‘Fool. These are literally the oldest flannel pyjamas that I have. Chest warmers my mam calls them.’ 

Delia blushed as Patsy’s eyes flicked down to her breasts momentarily. She swallowed hard, feeling a disconcerting thump in her midriff, but laughed as Patsy spoke. 

‘Very important Nurse Busby, nobody needs a chilled chest – I thought you’d know that with your extensive medical experience.’ 

‘Well your compliments notwithstanding I think I’d like to wear actual clothes.’ Delia’s eyes ranged over Patsy’s figure again and the jovial tone died on her lips. ‘I really don’t think I have anything as nice as that though.’ 

‘Nonsense,’ declared Patsy firmly, striding to the wardrobe and hauling open the doors with purpose. ‘I know exactly what I want to see you in today.’ 

Delia again felt the thud in her stomach muscles. She revelled in the care that Patsy demonstrated towards her. Her entire life, in every friendship, she had been the one to show concern, smooth the arguments, salve the broken emotions. Suddenly here was somebody who seemed to care for her in equal measure. She grinned a grateful smile at Patsy’s back as the other girl flicked through the contents of the narrow closet like a collector in a record shop; rapid but discerning. 

‘Here,’ announced Patsy triumphantly pulling out a teal dress with a belted middle. ‘This suits you utterly Deels. Shows off those eyes.’ 

Delia smiled again, tilted her head to one side and raised her eyebrows playfully. 

‘If you get tired of nursing Patsy Mount I am sure that Selfridges will give you a job.’ 

‘Come on you, out of your lair.’ 

Delia obliged. She stood by her bed as Patsy approached brandishing the dress, still on its hanger. She held it against Delia, the two wooden ends of the coathanger prodding Delia in the shoulders as Patsy ran a smoothing hand over the fabric, ghosting over Delia’s petite outline, pushing against the unflattering flannel to achieve a tighter look. Delia’s flesh goose-pimpled under the touch and she visibly shivered.

‘Sorry Deels, I should just let you be.’ Patsy laid the dress carefully on the unmade bed. She smiled broadly at Delia as she edged towards the door. ‘Choose a cardigan too. I want you to keep warm.’

‘Where are we going?’ 

‘Wales,’ called Patsy gaily as she slipped out of the door and left Delia staring at blank wood in total confusion.


	17. Journey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patsy has a surprise planned for Delia and nothing can spoil the mood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still utterly overwhelmed by the positive reaction to this. Having an absolute blast writing it. Though once again the curse of the mammoth chapter has struck and I have split this whilst still working on the latter part of what comes next.

Delia looked at herself in the mirror, straining to look over her shoulder and check her rear view. She knew she looked nothing like as elegant or beautiful as Patsy but she was satisfied with the finished result. She reached up and tightened her ponytail, pausing as her hands passed her ears to check her earrings, a distinct cyan, an attempt to match the dress, were firmly in place. 

‘Deels?’ called a familiar voice through the closed door. ‘Are you ready.’ 

Delia seized a bottle of her favourite perfume from the dressing table, doused her wrist, tutted at the heavy-handed movement, replaced the decorative glassware hurriedly and made for the door. She hooked the coat from the back of the high backed chair and slung it casually over her shoulder, her bent forefinger through the coat hook she seldom used. When she finally stood before Patsy it was the older woman’s turn to raise her eyebrows. Her lips curved upwards. 

‘You scrub up rather wonderfully old thing. Shall we go?’ 

Delia nodded, pulling on her coat and fiddling with the buttons.

‘You do know that I have a nightshift tonight don’t you?’ 

‘Of course. I promise not to tire you out.’ 

‘I meant more, well, where are we going? Really?’ asked Delia, scanning the face of the smiling woman who walked alongside her. 

‘I have no more to say on the matter presently,’ said Patsy, her voice was airy, a deliberate caricatured version of her usual tone, purposely enigmatic. ‘We just need to call into the kitchen for a moment and then we can go.’

Delia followed Patsy through the doors that led to their communal kitchen. She gave a small sigh when she saw Virginia primly sat at the table in the centre of the room, her eyes ranging over a small hardbacked novel. As Patsy busied herself with something Delia could not quite make out she gave the third woman a tight smile, her cheeks taught, dimples shallow dishes. 

‘Rather a risk,’ stated Virginia baldly, turning her gaze from where it had briefly scanned the stiff Welshwoman back to her book.

‘Sorry?’ asked Delia, already sensing the tension in the back of her neck and shoulders that prickled like a momentary candle burn whenever Virginia spoke to her.

‘A picnic,’ droned Virginia, her voice languid but betraying deep contempt. ‘In the middle of winter. You two certainly are. What’s the word?’ A long, deliberate pause. ‘Different.’ 

Delia looked at Patsy who was bent at the waist, her head half buried in a cupboard. 

‘A picnic?’

Patsy pulled her head from the semi-darkness and, holding a package of brown paper, tied haphazardly with parcel string, straightened up. She looked between Delia and Virginia. The former’s countenance a portrait of bemusement, the latter’s a study of triumphant bitterness. 

‘What’s that?’ 

‘We’re going on a picnic?’ asked Delia, trying, but failing, to keep the incredulity from her voice.

‘Absolutely we are.’ Patsy was breezy but determined. ‘You’ll see!’ 

The broad smile that was bestowed on Delia was infectious and Virginia rolled her eyes as the two beamed at one another for a moment. 

‘You’re potty, the pair of you. See you later, Delia.’ 

‘Not unless I see you first,’ muttered the diminutive nurse as Virginia pulled herself up to full height and swept past Delia and out of the kitchen. Putting the disconcerting effect of Virginia to one side Delia focussed instead on Patsy who had hauled a large picnic basket onto the vacated table. 

‘She might be right about the potty. Are we really going for a picnic?’ asked Delia, warily. 

‘Do you trust me?’ said Patsy, the question was asked lightly, the words tripping from behind a warm smile but Delia felt a hitch in her breath; she stilled, looked levelly at Patsy. 

‘Utterly.’

Delia saw Patsy swallow carefully. 

‘Good, because you can ignore Ginny.’

‘I intend to.’

‘We are going to have a first rate day. And yes, we are having a picnic but I will personally ensure that you do not freeze to death. Follow me.’ 

Patsy grasped the picnic hamper and headed for the door. Delia smiled at her back, revelling in her childlike enthusiasm. She brushed down her coat and followed the taller woman. 

Seated on the middle of the Routemaster, rather squashed together and with the hamper resting awkwardly between them, Delia glanced at Patsy, sensing rather than seeing her anxious expression. She was chewing her bottom lip and staring, rather absentmindedly ahead of her.

‘Is everything okay Pats?’ 

‘Yes, I just want you to have a nice time. It’s rather a long way, and this basket is rather bigger than I anticipated.’

Patsy tried to adjust the wicker carrier but it remained wedged in the narrow space between the seats in front and the warm bodies of the two nurses.

‘I am quite happy sat here with you; though I might be more comfortable if I knew where we were going.’ 

Patsy gave an awkward cough and pressed her lips together. 

‘Oh Deels. You were having an utterly rotten time of it last week, with Gareth, Matron, Ginny and well, me being such a whiner at the party.’ Delia reached out a hand and touched Patsy lightly on the sleeve. Patsy smiled in response, but continued. ‘And you said you were going home to Pembrokeshire and then two or three times this week you have said you were a little homesick. So today, Busby, Wales is coming to you. Or rather to Kew.’

Delia was looking intently at Patsy’s face as the words tumbled out, a rush of explanation and obvious tenderness. Delia felt a lump form in her throat as Patsy turned her head, met her gaze and put her head on one side. Patsy’s expression was painfully hopeful. Delia gave her a broad smile. 

‘I’m sure it is going to be wonderful cariad, but I still have pretty much no idea what you are talking about.’ 

Patsy laughed and Delia watched the tension drain from her friend’s face. 

‘Wait and see.’


	18. I Knew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I never intended for Patsy's planned day out to be a big reveal - but here is it finally. And some more pleasant fluff in amongst the inevitable angst. Pats and Deels can be strong and stable in the midst of all this chaos! :) Once again, and I know I keep saying it but it is true, the positive reaction to this really does mean the world. Really enjoying writing it. I agonised over the final paragraph. I really hope it works!

‘Patsy, it’s beautiful.’ Delia’s mouth was slightly agape, her tone reverent, as she craned her neck to look up the intricate network of vaults, domes and struts that met in a magnificent whole. White painted ironwork melded into sheet of glass after sheet of glass. Delia had never seen anything like it. 

‘It’s called the Palm House,’ said Pasty, quiet pleasure in Delia’s reaction betrayed in the low, shy tone of her voice. ‘It’s been here years but it’s often quiet in winter.’

‘Are we going inside?’ Delia’s voice was slightly strangulated, her vocal cords lengthened in her neck as she continued to tip back her head and admire the size of the structure before her. When she finally righted herself to a normal standing position she noticed Patsy was gazing at her, supressing a smile. ‘What?’

‘Oh, I don’t know Deels, you stood there all wide eyed. You look, rather,’ Patsy paused, searching for the word. She swallowed and pressed her lips together again. ‘Charming?’ 

Delia felt her face break into a wide grin. Patsy smiled back and, for a moment that mirrored that they had shared in the kitchen earlier that day, they simply looked at one another. A violent gust of wind, which chased a few remaining fallen leaves across the thinning grass that edged the path, startled them both.

Patsy shifted the handle of the picnic hamper from arm to arm. 

‘Will you let me take that for a while?’ asked Delia. 

‘Absolutely not. This is my treat. You’re not playing donkey.’

Delia bit her bottom lip, looked at Patsy from beneath her dark lashes.

‘Whereas you make an excellent ass.’ 

‘Hey,’ protested Patsy. ‘You can go off a person, you know?’

Delia giggled and pushed her hands into her pockets against the cold as Patsy headed off towards the one of the giant panels that made up part of the doors to the inside of the Palm House. The diminutive brunette looked even more petite as she nodded in hyperbolic gratitude, passing through the large, predominantly glass, door to inner chamber. Despite promising herself that she would show more restraint and decorum once inside, Delia couldn’t help raising her eyes upwards as soon as she entered. Ferns and vines wrapped around wrought iron rods, their fleshy stems enveloping one another like lover’s hands as they climbed relentlessly towards the impossibly high glass roof, glittering in the weak winter sunshine. The temperature was notably warmer and Delia withdrew her hands from her pockets and still gazing upwards she unbelted and unbuttoned her coat as if from memory. Her eyes ranged over the scene before her, she inhaled deeply; the unmistakable catch of oxygen rich air hitting the back of her throat, and something else, a green humidity that made the tongue feel thick as the giant, plump stalks and shoots that seemed to fill the huge space. 

‘Do you want to explore now or later?’ asked Patsy, gently, appearing at her elbow. ‘I’ll find a bench to put this under, I’m sure it will be fine.’

Within two minutes Delia was leading the way up a white-painted spiral staircase, ornately wrought from iron that rang clear when her soles struck each step. Her hands traced the cool, smooth bannister, occasionally drifting to allow a fern to tickle across the back of her hand, her amazement at the sheer size of the plants unabated. When she reached the narrow balcony that ran around the main gallery of the Palm House Delia stopped in amazement again. Patsy almost bowled into her.

‘It really is wonderful Pats.’ The Welsh voice brimmed with enthusiasm. She stepped forwards, spread her arms slightly and closed her fingers around the balustrade. ‘Do you know what any of the plants are?’ 

Delia found herself holding her breath as she felt Patsy press into her from behind so that their heads were level, Patsy looking over Delia’s left shoulder at the expanse of exotic foliage. Pointing with her left hand reaching over Delia’s outstretched limb, her right resting almost without touching on the small of Delia’s back through the cloth of the smaller woman’s coat, Patsy began to talk botany. Delia felt her stomach turn over, she struggled to focus on the words, conscious of the lack of physical space between them. She forced herself to breathe, hearing the blood throbbing like a simple drum beat, she pushed from her mind the sense of nervous excitement she felt at the warmth of Patsy’s body occasionally meeting her own like two tributaries merging into a greater flow. It was ridiculous, she scolded herself, that she, a grown woman, had so obviously missed such close human contact. Her mind drifted briefly to the times spent in a happy, tangled heap gazing at the sky or the river with Gwen or Gareth or even the frequent hugs from Mam, Tad or Nanny Busby. There was, she counselled herself, nothing more to it. Yet when Patsy edged backwards, removing her arm, Delia had to grip the handrail tighter, realising she felt the absence of the other woman’s closeness like a prick of grief. 

‘Does that make sense?’ asked Patsy, looking down on Delia. The shorter woman smiled sheepishly. 

‘Most of it. I love the fact that you know so much though.’ 

‘Are you hungry? It’s past lunchtime,’ said Patsy and Delia peeled back the cuff of her coat and glanced at the small wristwatch.

‘Heavens, yes. I want to enjoy this and I have to be back in good time for my shift.’ Delia smiled. ‘I like saying that, it makes me feel like a proper nurse. Do you know what I mean?’ 

Patsy was already on the spiral steps. She looked back up, long fingers trailing about the central post. ‘I think you’re a born nurse Delia Busby. Now do come along and get some lunch.’

Patsy hoisted the picnic basket on to the bench she had selected. She gestured to the space beside it. Delia perched, watching, as Patsy began to unpack onto the slats of the seat. 

‘Pats?’ began Delia, rather hesitantly. ‘I was just wondering about something you said earlier.’ 

Patsy stilled. Her lips locked together and she raised her eyebrows. Like on so many previous occasions Delia perceived that such ambiguous statements unnerved her, left the older woman suddenly vulnerable. Desperate not to break the joyful mood that had pervaded the day Delia continued quickly. 

‘Before, in my room. You said we were going to Wales.’

‘Ah. Well old thing.’ Patsy’s eyebrows reached even further up her forehead and her face creased into a smile. ‘That’s where the food comes in. This rather splendid picnic is going to transport you to Pembrokeshire, via the nearest I could manage to the countryside a month before Christmas. I knew we couldn’t eat outside so that’s why we’re here. I have had to do a bit of research and called in a few favours here and there.’ 

Patsy reached into the basket and pulled out a flask and several brown parcels, most loosely tied with string. Within a short while the short gap between the two women was brimming with paper packages. 

‘Go ahead, old thing.’ Patsy smiled and nodded encouragingly at Delia who had watched the whole thing intensely, like child watching a magician. Delia reached forward and began unwrapping. She began with the largest of the bundles. As the paper fell away Delia clasped her right fingers against her lips. 

‘Bara brith!’ Delia’s delighted voice was loud and hollow in the huge space. ‘Oh, my mam makes a great bara brith.’ 

‘Well I can’t promise that it will live up to the Busby family recipe, but I hope it’ll pass muster.’ 

Delia was already excitedly unwrapping the next parcel of brown, her fingers working deftly at the string and stiff wrapping of the smaller bundle. A round of creamy yellow cheese, enveloped in a grey speckled rind sat in the centre of the paper when Delia had finished. 

‘Cay-filly,’ said Patsy carefully. Delia laughed.

‘Caerphilly,’ corrected the younger woman, a huge smile splitting her face. ‘Have you never eaten it?’

‘It’s a new one on me,’ said Patsy, warmly. Delia’s smiling enthusiasm was infectious and she grinned as Delia ran a forefinger round the outer rim of the rind.  
‘The miners in parts of Wales used to take it down the pits and eat it like cake. You’re in for a treat.’ 

Delia’s hands seized the next package, this one was taller. Delia gave it a small squeeze, inescapably reminded of Christmas presents. It yielded under her fingers, elastic and pleasingly soft to the touch. Delia looked up at Patsy, a question in her raised eyebrows. 

‘Go on,’ encouraged Patsy, the smile still playing about her mouth. 

Delia tore off the last of the paper. 

‘Crempog!’ Delia shook her head in wonder at the perfect, round, thick pancakes. ‘Did you make these?’ 

‘Sadly, no. I am good at many things Deels, cooking is not one of the them. I am rather ashamed to say that my whole life food has been provided for me, in one form or another.’ A momentary shadow glanced across Patsy’s face but it passed and Delia felt a swell of gratitude like none she had ever experienced. ‘I found a rather splendid grocer on Whitechapel Road who was quite simply a fount of information. I believe he thinks I have entirely lost my marbles but he helped me get all of this. And these, which he assures me are the best desert in the world.’

Patsy handed over another wrapped parcel. Delia took it from her, slipped off the string and pushed the paper aside. 

‘Of course, and he is right. Just you wait,’ said Delia as she looked inside. Suddenly, to her surprise, the brunette felt tears swim in the bottom of her eyes. The words when they came were choked, quiet. ‘I really don’t know what to say.’

‘Deels, last Saturday you showed me more care and affection that I have had in nearly twenty years.’ Patsy’s expression had grown troubled as she spoke, her breezy tone was gone and she chewed her lip nervously. ‘I feel I am rather unequal to the task of saying thank you and it meaning what I want it to mean. So, this is the next best thing. I owe you a huge debt of gratitude.’ 

‘There is no debt.’ Delia held Patsy’s gaze, hoping she would recognise the reference. Patsy’s countenance shifted from darkness to light. She laughed. 

‘Well then Delia Busby, hear this. I knew you would do me good in some way, at some time – I saw it in your eyes when I first beheld you; their expression and smile did not strike delight to my very innermost heart so for nothing.’

Delia’s face was lit, radiant with happiness, looking down at the cheese. Her tone was playful as she reached for the knife.

‘Oh, I’m Jane Eyre now am I? It’s a step up from Helen Burns.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Kew is a ludicrously long way from Whitechapel but I wanted the girls to have their picnic (in November!) in a relatively warm place and Kew's is the only glasshouse in London I have been to! Apologies if it is totally and utterly unrealistic/anachronistic (don't want Delia to be late for her shift!).


	19. The Better Deal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delia desperately tries to make sense of her feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pure unadulterated fluff but still the slowest of slow burns...bear with; we all know what happens in the end :)  
> I am enjoying a brief respite from endless working hours and it has been a true delight to spend some free time letting Delia and Patsy run around my imagination. Thank you for indulging me.

Patsy watched as Delia cut a wedge of cheese from the round and slid it back from the circle. She expertly balanced the triangle on the flat of the knife, placed a light forefinger on the top and leaned forwards. Patsy took the cheese and eyed it warily before taking a small bite from the end. Delia watched her, amused, a half smile on her lips. Patsy’s gave an approving nod and a larger bite, using her free hand to catch crumbs. 

‘It’s salty, I wasn’t expecting that,’ mumbled Patsy. 

Delia grinned at her. 

‘It’s what you need down a coal mine! Not that I actually know any coal miners. Your idea of a nightmare I imagine Pats – all that coal dust?’ 

Patsy raised her eyebrows in mock outrage at Delia’s gentle barb and looked on as Delia busied herself unscrewing the aluminium cap of the Thermos. The Welshwoman gave a small grunt as she unscrewed the stopper and then gave a cry of horror as she poured a measure of still steaming tea into the cap which doubled as a cup.

‘Patsy Mount – what is this?’ Delia peered at the liquid, dark brown, a hint of copper. Patsy giggled. Delia handed over the small cup with a huff.

‘I’m sorry Deels, I just can’t drink that dishwater you believe passes for tea. I really need to educate you.’

‘It’s a good job that this is all such a wonderful surprise that I’ll forgive you anything right now.’ 

Patsy’s eyes smiled over the rim of the cup as she took a sip. Delia held her gaze as she sliced her own wedge of cheese and polished it off in three bites, smiling as she finished chewing. She looked at the unwrapped parcels and hovered over the thick, buttery pancakes. 

‘These are best slathered in butter,’ said Delia, raising one to her mouth and parting her lips. 

‘Wait!’ Patsy delved into the hamper and pulled out a palm sized piece of greaseproof paper, oily stains leeching across the brown like a map of the world. ‘I purloined this from the kitchen this morning whilst you were hissing at Virginia.’

Delia put her head on one side and raised her eyebrows in mock complaint as she reached across and took the small packet from Patsy’s hands with the fingers not holding a crempog.

‘Angel,’ she muttered as she pulled apart the scrunched ends of the paper and pushed the knife into the soft, golden butter before spreading it quickly and generously over the pancake. 

‘My mam says that you can tell the difference between those of a decent class and not based entirely on butter.’ Delia grinned at Patsy’s confused expression. ‘She says that proper people have butter separate on the table, poor people have their bread buttered and put on the table at the start of the meal. Needless to say, butter was always separate in our house. Even during the war when it was disgusting marg there was Mam, ploughing on with the butter dish. Drove Tad mad when he just wanted a slice of white with his stew.’ Delia giggled at the memory and Patsy smiled at her ingenuous patter. Looking down at her buttered crempog Delia took a generous bite and then offered the other half to Patsy. The blonde rolled her eyes, before plucking the offering from between Delia’s fingers.

‘Rather unhygienic Deels but I’ll bow to your greater knowledge of how to eat a Welsh delicacy.’ 

Patsy put the pancake to her lips, chewed quickly, swallowed. She glanced at her fingers and noticed the butter had dripped. She edged out her tongue a fraction and placed the tip of a forefinger there before sucking in the digit and licking it clean. Delia stared, unnerved by the violent lurch her stomach gave at the sight of the bony tips disappearing into her friend’s pursed lips. Averting her eyes and frowning, Delia looked for the knife. She reached for it hurriedly and, seizing the handle, she attempted to saw off a piece of the dense tea bread lying in its brown paper blanket. It collapsed under her awkward ministrations, currants and crumbs piling up like Blitz rubble. 

‘Damn it. Twpsyn,’ Delia muttered, both irritated and disconcerted. She continued to prod at the mess, the ingredients separating yet further, the knife aimlessly worrying at the increasingly collapsing fruitcake.

‘Deels?’ asked Patsy, surprised by the curse from her even tempered friend.

‘Sorry, I just.’ Words failed her for a moment. She stilled her hand, leaving the knife resting against the devastated slab. Looking up she read Patsy’s concerned face. She pushed her perturbation away and smiled. ‘I just don’t want to spoil such a lovely afternoon.’ 

‘It will still taste delicious,’ Patsy lowered her voice, teasing, the fish hook smile creeping across the right-hand side of her face as she leaned towards Delia a fraction. ‘Even if you have destroyed it.’

‘I feel like if I eat much more cake I might dissolve into a pile of sugar,’ said Delia. 

‘This must be terribly good for you, look at all that fruit.’ Patsy scooped up the pile of tealoaf Delia had created and tipping back her head she dropped the crumbs and plump, swollen fruit into her mouth. Delia laughed. 

‘I’m not sure what they would say at your finishing school about this afternoon’s performance Patience Mount.’

‘Thankfully I think my father had rather given up on me by the time there was any danger of finishing school. This really is super.’ Patsy took the knife from Delia’s hand and cut herself another slice of barra brith; Delia heard the unmistakable brusque edge creep into Patsy’s voice which she was beginning to recognise as the sure sign that a subject matter was at an end. 

‘What would be your ideal meal?’ asked Delia, offering Patsy a new conversational path, desperate to retain the sense of joy that had pervaded the day. Patsy smiled at her warmly, grateful. 

‘Do you know, I think it would be something terribly English? Perhaps fish, chips and peas in vinegar soaked newspaper?’’

Delia laughed at the reverential tone that had crept into Patsy’s voice.

‘Well I think I have the better end of this deal.’

Patsy gazed at her; tilted her head, arched her eyebrows in question. Delia smiled as she continued, the lilt in her voice more pronounced as a playful tenor rang out from her words.

‘So, in future, if I want to treat you or say thank you I have to find a chippy? You have to bring an entire country to London.’

‘Speaking of that,’ said Patsy, reaching for yet another packet. ‘My splendid grocer tells me these are the Welsh ‘piece de resistence’ and he had to speak to a baker somewhere half way across the city to get them.’

‘Bakestones are the greatest treat in the world’ agreed Delia. 

‘I thought they were called Welsh cakes?’ said Patsy crestfallen, clearly feeling her greatest effort had misfired. 

Delia leant forward and took Patsy’s hand, she rubbed her thumb across the skin she found there. Patsy fixed her eyes on Delia’s moving fingers, still she gazed down as Delia spoke. 

‘They are Welsh cakes, and they are wonderful.’ Delia paused, an unexpected lump of emotion lodging itself in her throat. She squeezed the warm fingers in her hand. ‘Thank you Pats, this is the nicest thing I think anybody has ever done for me.’


	20. Playing the Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delia has a trying day at work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, Patsy fans forgive me. This is very thin on the ground with regard to the statuesque Nurse Mount. This chapter and the subsequent ones are very much about Delia. I really hope that you can bear with me and forgive the lack of Pupcake in a Pupcake fic. Delia fans...knock yourself out!

‘Morning my little ray of Welsh sunshine.’

Delia turned her head, her vision irritatingly obscured by the ridiculous puff sleeves of her pink-purple uniform. She bit down on the tiredness and frustration she had felt on walking through the push doors of the ward. She was ten hours away from her day off after five consecutive days and an illogical shift pattern that had seen her on earlies and then lates. She was entirely convinced that the ward sister was either an unashamed masochist or simply incapable of telling the time. Determined not to let anybody see that she was struggling Delia slowed down in her passage through the ward; she smiled in the direction of the voice and away from the elegant figure who walked beside her dressed in an identical, spotless uniform. 

‘Morning Mr Porter – how are you this morning?’

‘Been feeling a bit off colour but all the better for the sight of you nurse,’ came the wheezing answer from the bed. Delia heard the breathlessness and paused. She turned her body fully towards the bed and looked carefully at the figure of Charlie Porter, propped up awkwardly on his pillows, his pallor not dissimilar to the peppermint green walls that surrounded every ward and every corridor in the London. 

‘Oh for heaven’s sake.’ The irritation in Virginia’s voice was audible across half of the ward. ‘We have rounds to do Delia, the junior doctors will be here any minute and I haven’t checked the groupings.’

‘I’ll only be a minute,’ said Delia, quietly, crossing to the bedside of the old man, his pyjamas rumpled and his arms lying leaden outside of the green sheets. The small lamp above his bed was casting a circle of feeble light onto the crown of his head and Delia noted that strands of ash grey hair were plastered to the pale head as if he had just stepped out of a rain shower. When Delia bent, picked up his left hand with her right, she felt the greasy sheen of perspiration under her fingers. She looked down at the age-spotted skin, veins like blue string criss-crossing the backs of his hands; deftly she turned his wrist, manoeuvred her fingers until she could take a pulse, her right arm crossed across her body and fingers tucked under a small fob watch at which she stared intently. 

‘Don’t look s’serious nurse, it’s just a bit of breathlessness. I ain’t dying. It’s you, you make my heart skip a beat, I can’t help it. Don’t you be tellin’ my Edie though.’  
Delia smiled down at him, her eyes kind as they looked beyond her fingers and the fob watch and met his watery eyes, pale, cornflower blue as if time had faded them.

‘Charm will get you nowhere with me Mr Porter. And I am not getting between you and your wife, she’s far too nice to deserve your misbehaviour.’ She slipped her hands under the sheet that reached his waist and pulled it up, straightening the bedclothes and encouraging the patient into a more comfortable position. 

‘Shame,’ said Charlie with a wink as Delia raised her eyebrows in mock horror, turned on her heel and strode towards the table at the end of the ward where the ward sister was sat, head bent over large sheets of paper. Delia wondered idly if she was doing the rota and if she should offer some advice before she coughed diffidently. The dark hair, streaked with grey, snapped up and large brown eyes met Delia’s own.

‘Nurse Busby, it’s ten past, shouldn’t you have been on rounds by now?’ There was a sharpness to the question but the tone was not unkind. Delia chanced a brief smile and took heart. 

‘Yes Sister Hammond, but Mr Porter called me over and I was concerned about his breathing, his pulse is very definitely fast and shallow.’

‘Nurse Busby, you are very young and very inexperienced. Whilst I appreciate you are only trying to do your best please remember that it’s not your place to go about examining patients, particularly unsupervised and particularly when you are required elsewhere.’ 

‘Yes, Sister.’ Delia clasped her hands in front of her in what she hoped passed for remorse. 

‘Go on, catch your group. I will make sure Mr Porter gets seen by a doctor.’ The older nurse called out as Delia escaped. ‘And thank you, Nurse Busby.’

Delia grinned to nobody in particular as she hurried to find the group of junior doctors and trainee nurses with whom she was supposed to be studying. The approbation from the senior nurse had made her heart soar and even the sight of Virginia stood erect and bored at the side of the group of white and purple could not dampen her spirits. Virginia looked sidelong at Delia and rolled her eyes, Delia gave a tight-lipped smile and hoped that Virginia wouldn’t take the opportunity to draw attention to her tardiness. For the second time in as many minutes Delia clasped her hands in front of her and attempted to look invisible. It was a gesture she had noted in Patsy and had adopted it in times exactly such as these. 

‘Oh hello Delia.’ Virginia’s voice cut through the quiet mutterings of the senior doctor who was describing the symptoms of angina by pointed reference to a pasty looking man lying propped up in the familiar cream railed beds that filled the wards of the London. Delia closed her eyes and sighed as a dozen pairs of eyes fell on her. 

‘Nice of you to join us, nurse.’ The doctor’s tone was acerbic, the contemptuous emphasis on the final noun sent a flame of fury through Delia’s chest but she knew better than to attempt a response. She consoled herself with a furious glare at the back of Virginia’s head as the other nurse turned away. Scowling to herself Delia turned her attention to the information given on the rest of the round. The times where the trainees of medicine and nursing received the same information were rare and Delia was determined that she was to make the most of the opportunity and ignore her colleague’s attempts to derail the morning. She fixed her gaze on the doctor who had immediately turned his back on delivering his rebuke and focussed her attention. It wasn’t disturbed until the consultant dismissed the group and the white coats and purple dresses dissipated. 

‘Oh how can I have been so terribly silly.’ Delia widened her eyes as Virginia trilled loudly, her hand resting on the arm of a smirking junior doctor. 

‘Well, nurse, it’s really quite simple. It’s just a course of antibiotics and the patient will recover. In the most pronounced cases we would remove the tonsils entirely.’  
Delia felt herself gape as Virginia gave the doctor a dazzling smile and a thank you before turning away and finding herself meeting the incredulous eyes of the diminutive Welshwoman. 

‘What?’ Virginia’s tone was snappy.

‘You can’t possibly expect me to believe you don’t know how to treat tonsillitis? I’m not sure it even requires any medical training. I’d bet on Gareth knowing and he works on a farm.’ Delia, shook her head as she spoke. Virginia’s lip curled in response.

‘You have to give them what they want. Make them believe you need them, let them play the expert. It’s a game Delia.' Virginia exhaled and lifted her chin. 'Not that I would expect you to understand.’


	21. Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delia's day is marginally improved by her friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am overwhelmed by the number of views and all the comments are just wonderful and so encouraging.   
> My work patterns are going to be incredibly erratic over the coming weeks so I wont be able to update as much (sleep, who needs sleep?) but I really hope you stay with me - I have lots of plans for this story!

Delia tutted as Virginia strode away with a haughty sigh and glanced at her fob watch. It was lunchtime and she idly wondered where Patsy was. Delia mused that an impromptu lunch after a very difficult week might be just the thing to help her forget Virginia and her snide remarks. Pushing through the double swing doors that led to the long, pale green corridor that tunnelled away from the ward Delia heard her name called. She turned to see Kitty; small, rotund, full of Yorkshire grit and an excellent nurse. 

‘Hello Nurse Boley’ said Delia cheerfully, her mood already improving. 

‘Shush now Delia, it’s lunch time, let’s drop the nurse stuff. Please call me Kitty. Are you heading to the canteen?’ 

Delia nodded. 

‘Mind if I join you?’ Kitty’s tone was warm but Delia felt a pang of disappointment, which gave way to guilt, a prick her in the stomach at the loss of a lunch with only Patsy. She quickly dismissed the thought as a sign of tiredness and turned a broad smile on the woman, only recently qualified herself, who had offered her such support in the first few days in her placement. 

‘That would be lovely.’

When the two entered the thronging, noisy cafeteria Delia’s eyes scanned the room. Heads bent over tens of tables and the chatter hung in the air like the insistent buzz of an insect. Delia’s gaze rested on table after table, still hoping to catch sight of the blonde crown of her friend. Suddenly, Delia spied the lone figure of Patsy, staring dolefully out of the window, a tea cup propped in her hands as she rested her elbows on the Formica table. Instinctively Delia made towards her but was unexpectedly halted by a hand on her arm, the northern burr of Kitty in her ear. 

‘Do you know what you want?’

‘Sorry?’ Delia dragged her eyes back to her new friend. ‘What? Yes, sorry.’ 

The two made their way to the long line of doctors and nurses queuing for their lunchtime meal. Delia stole frequent glances towards Patsy’s table, hoping she didn’t leave before they could join her. 

‘Is that Patsy?’ asked Kitty suddenly. Delia blushed, she felt the heat flooding from her stiff colour as if a lock gate had opened. Looking up she saw that Kitty had followed her gaze to where Patsy still sat, the tea cup now resting in its saucer and Patsy drawing languidly on a cigarette. ‘The friend you mentioned from training?’ 

‘Yes.’ Delia answered simply. 

‘Go and sit with her, save the table, I’ll get you the casserole and a tea. Pay me back later.’

Delia shot her friend a grateful smile and headed to the window by which Patsy sat. When she arrived, she slipped, uninvited, into the seat opposite her blonde friend and smiled sympathetically.

‘Hello Pats. ENT not getting any better?’

Patsy looked up, her face split with a smile at Delia’s voice. Reaching forward she stubbed out her cigarette with a sharp jab into the glass ashtray that sat between them and pressed her lips together firmly, as if attempting to suppress her emotions.

‘Oh Deels. It’s deathly dull. I am not sure I can stick another four weeks.’ Patsy smiled sadly at Delia’s concerned face. ‘It’s okay, I’ll be fine. I know I want to nurse. I am just not sure that it’s proboscises for me. And I can’t complain too much, I don’t have to deal with Virginia.’ 

Delia tried to hide the awkward cloud that sailed over her face. Patsy raised her eyebrows in question just as Kitty arrived at the table, managing a full tray with difficulty. Delia leapt up to help her; felt, as much as saw, Patsy stiffen, watch the exchange through narrowed eyes. Kitty turned her body to face Patsy, smiled, reached out a hand and introduced herself. Patsy took the proffered hand, her face a mask of impassivity as she labelled herself Patience with careful reserve. Kitty edged herself into a seat and Delia sat opposite Patsy, acutely aware of the latter’s sudden stiffness, her upright pose, as if charged by an electrical current. Much as she liked and respected Kitty, Delia longed at that moment for her to be gone, for it to be simply her and Patsy sat at a table amongst a room of strangers and unburden themselves about their day. 

Kitty shovelled a forkful of casserole into her mouth, oblivious to the tension at the table. It struck Delia that Kitty was exactly what a nurse should be; practical, sensible, focussed on the task in hand. Musing on the fact, Delia smiled at her as she mumbled through a mouthful of meat and gravy, the gesture earning a terse look from the other side of the table. Delia ignored Patsy’s discomfort and directed her musings towards her fellow trainee. 

‘You remember I told you about Kitty, Pats? She’s been such a help since I started on the ward. Making sure I don’t make any terrible mistakes.’

‘I’m sure you wouldn’t.’

Delia giggled as both women at the table spoke simultaneously to praise her and Kitty too gave a peal of laughter before she smiled warmly, first at Delia and then at Patsy. The latter took a moment to catch up with the mirth before she too gave a satisfied chuckle. Delia was relieved to see the tall nurse finally relax; she was desperate to ask Patsy how her morning had gone. She knew that Patsy was finding her placement a strain but knew equally that there was little chance of her friend revealing anything whilst Kitty was sitting alongside them. Delia chewed her meal thoughtfully, only half listening to Kitty’s cheerful anecdotes about the ward and the other nurses. Her attention was rapt though when Kitty switched the discussion to her.

‘I heard about what happened this morning. With Charlie Porter. Or at least Sister Hammond got me to telephone for Mr Holt and said you’d spotted something.’ 

Delia pressed her lips together, almost a mirror of the pose adopted by Patsy minutes earlier, but a smile spread across her face; dimples flashing and her eyes shining with pleasure. She bit her lip, looked between Patsy and Kitty before settling her gaze on the latter.

‘I’m worried about him. I think he might have a bleed from that ulcer. I mean, I know it’s not for me to say. But the sickness and the breathlessness and the pulse rate.’  
‘It’s a good shout Delia. You’re not as green as you’re cabbage looking. I suppose Mr Holt will decide’ 

Delia laughed outloud at the colloquial compliment whilst Patsy’s trademark fishhook smile spread across her face. Kitty stood, began collecting the detritus of the meal and piling onto a brown plastic tray. 

‘Are you coming back now?’

‘I guess so,’ said Delia reluctantly. She felt tired and frustrated at having had so little time to catch up with the blonde who was so clearly struggling with her day.

‘Nice to meet you,’ said Kitty as she lifted the tray from the table, the gravy stained plates sliding slightly before she strode away not waiting for a response from Patsy before calling over her shoulder. ‘I’ll meet you by the door Delia.’

Delia nodded at Kitty’s back, she stood up and turned her attention back to Patsy who looked upwards at Delia with a shy smile.

‘I’m sorry we didn’t get to talk about your day. I promise when we get home this evening I am all yours,’ said Delia, sincerely.

Patsy licked her lips and bit her lip. Delia found herself returning a nervous smile.

‘I’m more interested in hearing about these diagnostic skills of yours.’ Patsy stood. She took a step forward until she was level with Delia, their puffed purple sleeves mingling as Patsy leaned into Delia’s ear, her voice low and earnest.

‘I’m proud of you Busby.’


	22. Instinct

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delia's day isn't getting any better!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe how many issues I have had with this chapter and the next, not least losing the whole lot and having to rewrite. The support, comments an encouragement make a massive difference and really do spur me on to write more.   
> As I said work is looking pretty awful for me over the next month but I may well turn to this fic and Delia and Patsy when things get desperate!   
> Thank you again to all those who are reading this.

Delia squeezed her eyes shut tightly before forcing them open as wide as they would go. She leaned against the wall of the corridor, feeling the paint hard and cool through her uniform. She was absolutely exhausted now and fatigue made her feet ache and her vision blur. With a resolute push she moved away from the wall and reached out a hand to push open the swing doors. 

‘Had the sluice room moved Nurse Busby?’ said a curt, nasal voice as soon as she stepped foot back onto the ward. Delia sighed inwardly, doubting she had the emotional or mental resilience for such sarcasm and she warily looked at the source of the barb. Pinched and angular with a face that reminded Delia of a bird of prey, Nurse Foster was glaring directly at Delia, she rarely smiled and prided herself on efficiency and work ethic. They were qualities Delia admired but the unrelenting sardonic comments were already grating on Delia and she had not yet managed a week working with the older woman. 

‘No, of course not Nurse Foster.’ Delia knew her voice was cold, bordering on the insubordinate. 

‘Then kindly tell me why it has taken you twenty-two minutes to do a ten minute job.’ It wasn’t a question and Delia felt her eyes narrow slightly, biting down her irritation with a nip of her lip. 

‘I am truly sorry, it won’t happen again.’ Delia forced herself to sound contrite.

‘Ensure it doesn’t – can you make sure your handover duties are done by half past please?’ 

Delia nodded and moved away and back into the space of her own thoughts. She began the monotonous task of moving the vases of flowers from each bedside table to a side room. It was dull but it gave her the chance to share a few words with patients and she revelled in the beautiful fragrance emitted by the blooms so entirely in contrast to the endless stream of foul smelling bodily fluids that made up so much of her days on the wards. Delia bowled into Virginia as she stepped from the ward and into the small side room. Virginia’s long, elegant arms draped over the back of a chair, her usually upright pose relaxed as she bent to rest her weight. 

‘Are you okay?’ asked Delia, a large vase of chrysanthemums clasped to her chest, obscuring her view. ‘Let me put these down, I’ve never liked the smell of chysanths since I read that DH Lawrence story – do you know the one I mean?’ 

‘Christ Bubsy, you really are the most frightful bore, aren’t you?’ Virginia straightened up and stretched a kink from her back. ‘If you must know I am in here hiding from Sister Hammond who seems hell bent of making me spend my life in the sluice room.’ 

‘It is our job,’ said Delia, coolly. 

‘It might be yours but I am not wasting my time in there.’

‘Fine.’ Delia placed the vase down and without another look at Virginia she turned and headed back to the ward. She heard the other woman sigh heavily and the chair scrape slightly. A moment later and Delia felt Virginia fall in step beside her. They did not speak. As soon as the doors swung shut behind them they split, like an axed log splintering. Delia began her approach to the next bed.

Virginia’s scream rang from the walls and the ward erupted into cacophony of chatter as all eyes fixed on the source of the noise. She stood alongside Charlie Porter’s bed, her arms raised to chest height, elbows bent as she surveyed her uniform. Delia set off at a sprint, closing the short distance between her and Charlie’s bed in seconds. As she halted at the end of bedstead, Charlie groaned loudly again, he twisted his body awkwardly and as had happened moments before he vomited loudly and forcefully. This time Virginia took the full brunt. There was the unmistakable sound of spatter of liquid on cloth but Delia stared in utter horror as it became clear that the projectile from Charlie’s mouth was predominately scarlet, thick mucus lumps of what Delia assumed to be undigested food dripped unceremoniously from Virginia’s previously spotlessly white apron. 

‘It’s okay Mr Porter, it’s okay.’ Delia’s words were calm, but strident, rising above the loud unrestrained groans coming from the bed as she grasped the green curtain which ran around the outline of the hospital bed on a curved cream runner. Virginia stood, now mute, staring wide eyed at the writhing man in the bed. 

‘Go and get help,’ said Delia as she pushed past Virginia to enable her to drag around the last of the curtain and remove from sight of the ward Mr Porter’s stricken body. Virginia did not move. ‘I’ll go then should I?’

It was a statement more than a question and Delia clicked her tongue in irritation as she ducked out from behind the curtain and looked around the ward for support. Her eyes lighted on Kitty just entering. 

‘Kitty! I mean Nurse Boley. I think Charlie Porter’s ulcer has ruptured – and he’s bleeding too.’ Behind her, Delia heard Charlie, on the other side of the curtain, cry out in pain, a whimper of terror before another unmistakable cough, gag and retch. She glanced behind her, looked back to Kitty urgently. Without another word Kitty burst back through the double doors. Delia heard her voice, clear, the long vowels oddly comforting; a sign of calm amongst the chaos. 

‘Telephone for Mr Holt. Perforated duodenum in bed 5.’ 

By the time Delia had reached the bedside of the stricken man again Kitty was alongside her. Her hands expertly felt the hardened stomach muscles of the patient. She grimaced as she noted the rapid, laboured breathing. Charlie’s eyes were wide with terror; Delia saw the pure fear of a child who believes its mother has abandoned it. Instinctively she bent close to his face, caught the iron smell of blood, the faint whiff of rotting matter and the acid tang of bile. 

‘Try not to worry Charlie, Mr Porter; the doctor is on his way. We have you.’ 

A flash of recognition ghosted over the elderly man’s face. Delia smiled down at him. Kindly and with a firm nod of her head.

‘Tell Edie. Tell her.’ The words were ragged breaths. Charlie raised his hand and grabbed violently at Delia’s wrist. His fingers were cold, his grip surprisingly hard. Delia’s heart lurched as she remembered the last words he had spoken to her that morning. With an effort she wrenched her eyes away from the frightened watery blue and looked between the several medics now surrounding the bottom half of the curtained cubicle. Their voices were low, but frantic, Delia strained to catch the discussion, her fingers moving instinctively to cover the top of Charlie’s hand as it clung to her slim wrist. 

‘There’s a chance it could have been bleeding a while, in which case I am looking at possible peritonitis.’ 

‘And there is every change this is a straightforward ulcer perforation, in which case I am right.’ 

‘I suggest surgery.’

‘I advise waiting it out, antibiotics and a more measured approach.’ 

Delia felt the change before she heard it. The grip on the wrist tightened, like a man grasping at branches as he falls from a tree, but the skin became palpably greasy, Delia felt the sweat run between Charlie’s fingers. With a violence of movement that elicited a cry of pain, Charlie Porter suddenly bucked and twisted, taking Delia’s arm with him.   
‘Where does it hurt Mr Porter?’ asked Kitty, firmly but calmly, as if asking where she might find his handkerchiefs. Delia was convinced Charlie Porter was rapidly in danger of never being able to answer a question again. She interceded.

‘Is it your belly Mr Porter?’

A frantic nodding of pained agreement. Then a further, sudden shift, the head shaking from side to side in negative affirmation; the hand was withdrawn, the fingers falling lifeless at the side of his body. Delia looked hard at his face. It was the colour of a dour winter’s day, greys and blues spread through the skin until it was a frightening blend of cloud and translucent skin. The ragged breathing caught again, an agonising pause before the lungful of air rasped out. Ignoring the ministrations of various hands over his abdomen Charlie suddenly wrenched his own right hand violently across his body. He grabbed at the thin, wrinkled flesh exposed under the pyjama top that had been rent apart by Kitty when she first examined him. A long, excruciating groan emerged. Delia was certain. 

‘Mr Holt, sir, I think he’s having a heart attack.’ 

The deep brown eyes of the consultant glanced at the source of the statement, which had interrupted the final decision to take the patient to surgery. Delia watched Virginia, still stood as if her shoes had taken root, her eyes wide with terror, bundled backwards, a shoulder just missing her as the more experienced doctors and nurses surged once again to Charlie’s aid. 

‘Get these two out of here – no distractions.’ Mr Holt’s voice was quiet but the command was unmistakable. Kitty turned to Delia, smiled, even in the midst of the chaos.

‘Nurse Busby, take Nurse Smyth to the sluice, get her cleaned up.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had an absolute howler with the name of Delia's patient. Top house points to the person who sees why! Once I realised what I had done I had already introduced him!


	23. Filth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delia's day get worse still and she is forced to take drastic measures.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is so integral to the previous that I feel I need to post it now (even though it will be the last chapter for a wee while unless I give up sleep altogether). I'm not really a fan of 'trigger warnings' on fiction, literature is pure make believe that touches on our own lives, loves and experiences and for me it is all the richer for that. However, if you are feeling a little on the vulnerable side then perhaps leave this a while (though Delia is magnificent!) and while it is less gory than the last chapter be aware it is still set in the aftermath of Charlie's ruptured ulcer! I am sorry that Patsy is AWOL, I promise she is ready and waiting in the next chapter. I am really very nervous about posting this chapter, not only because of its content but because the Delia of this fic is my creation and whilst I am really keen that she is a 'former shadow' (literally!) of HT's Delia I really want to give her a life and character but I want those things to be true to the glimpses we get on screen. I think Deels is tough and for me this is where she starts to learn that. Essentially I really hope that this is believable and in character (with apologies if it isn't!).

Delia looked between Virginia and the figure in the bed. She felt a compulsion to grip the bedstead, every fibre she had told her to stay with Charlie Porter but she couldn’t disobey a direct order. Sound was muffled, as if Delia was under glass, but she had registered the instruction and with leaden legs she moved around the bed, and heard, again, Mr Holt’s insistence that she and Virginia were gone. At the sound of her name Virginia had revived from her stupor; as Delia made to touch her lower back and guide her from the cubicle Virginia moved with sudden purpose. Without a second glance at the bed - and the struggle that was happening in it - she left the bay, pushing aside the curtain and moving through the ward without making eye-contact with a single person. Delia followed, she found herself almost at a trot to keep up, heard the whispered speculation about what was happening behind the green curtain, why Nurse Smyth was in such a terrible state. 

When Delia entered the sluice Virginia was leaning heavily against the corner of a stainless steel table. Her poise was gone, Delia took in the devastated figure before her and was reminded of a fledgling gone too soon from the nest. The dark eyes darted, the arms were folded across the body like useless wings, the palms and fingers splayed, not quite resting on the opposite arm as if afraid of her own touch. Virginia looked frightened but entirely unable to save herself. The blood from Mr Porter’s vomit had dried in striking, vertical burgundy patterns down the white of Virginia’s apron, flecks sprayed across the pink of the Hartnell uniform. Delia noted that lumps of what she took to be undigested matter still clung resolutely to Virginia’s dress, thick, mucus globs that bulged from her body as a shocking reminder of what had just happened. The taller nurse had closed her eyes and as Delia approached her she noted the matted hair, sticking in thick clumps to whichever bit of skin was available having slipped from the neat bun and beneath the still pristine cap which sat, straight and starched like a snow white mockery of the situation. 

‘Ginny?’ Delia’s voice was quiet, careful. The use of the diminutive noun deliberate, the intention to soothe. Getting no response Delia moved towards the other woman. A few, tentative steps. Virginia opened her eyes. She looked at Delia, fear flashed across her face in the way that it had in the bay with Charlie Porter. She opened her mouth as if she was going to say something but no words came, instead a strangulated sob emerged. 

‘Oh Ginny.’ Delia moved towards her more swiftly, closed the gap entirely. She opened her arms and wrapped them around the taller nurse. Delia placed her hands against the other woman’s shoulder blades and began to pull her close. The metallic, iron smell of blood repulsed Delia for a split second and she fought back a wave of revulsion as she moved her hand to lie flat against the broadest part of Virginia’s back. Delia was entirely unprepared for the violence of the shove when it came. She teetered backwards, her arms flailed and she pedalled her legs to right herself against the unbalance. She thrust out an arm and felt it make contact with the smooth of the cream, painted wall behind but the momentum was too much and the limb folded painfully beneath her as her back made contact with the hard plaster and Delia felt the wind being driven from her chest in a sudden moment of agony. She closed her eyes against the pain and tried to right herself but was still slumped against the wall when she opened her lids and noted Virginia advancing on her, the sobbing ceased and fury flashing in the dark eyes. 

‘Don’t you dare touch me. I know.’ Every word dripped venom and Delia’s brow furrowed as she tried to follow what was being said. Her eyebrows dipped and pushed together as Virginia continued, the words hissed out as if in a terrible parody of secrecy. 

‘You play the innocent so well, don’t you Busby? Always the top of the class, the one with the boyfriend who entertains the troops? Well you don’t fool me. That gurning fool is no more your boyfriend than he is matrons. I know.’ The final repeated words were delivered in a strange, triumphant half-yell and Virginia stabbed at Delia’s collarbone with her forefinger. ‘I have seen you. The way that you look at her. She might not have realised but I have, following her about the place with your revolting puppy eyes. I know what you are Delia Busby and it makes me sick. I wish that I could prove it; nothing would give me greater pleasure than to send you back to whatever nasty, unnatural little outpost you crawled out from.’

Ice gripped Delia’s heart, it inched its way across her chest and across her back until she literally felt the hackles rise on her neck and across her shoulder blades. Using the wall behind her as support she raised herself up to her full height, her fingers pressing hard into the cold paintwork beneath her finger tips before she felt her fists clench, an attempt to control her fury, sinews in her forearms stretched like chains she could strangle with. 

‘Just try it.’ Delia’s voice was calm, level and everything about her bearing was controlled. ‘See how far you get. I have no idea what horrible, misguided notion you have about me but hear this Virginia Smyth. I know what you are. You’re lazy and you’re a terrible nurse. I’ve watched you shirk and I’ve watched you with the juniors. There isn’t a member of staff on the whole ward or at the training school who would find it hard to believe just how useless you are. What. You. Are.’ Delia spat out the final three words and took a step forward before leaning into Virginia’s face. ‘I could ruin you faster than you can imagine. Think of this Virginia, the horrible irony, I am your best chance of marrying a junior doctor, or any doctor at all.’ 

‘You wouldn’t dare.’ 

‘Try me.’ Delia met the hazel boring into her own azure with a resolute calmness that she did not feel. Her shoulders straightened even further, she did not drop her gaze. 

‘Get out.’ Virginia’s voice was preternaturally calm; the pause between the two words indicating that she was struggling to control her temper. The tall woman in her soiled uniform turned her back, standing stranded in the centre of the clinically spotless room, leaving Delia staring at the back of her head. The full enormity of the exchange began to dawn on the Welshwoman and she vaguely contemplated attempting some sort of reconciliation but the insistent throb in her temple warned her that her anger was still dangerously present. Sighing heavily, Delia left the sluice and for the first time felt the tenderness in her wrist. She supported the painful limb with her other hand as she shouldered the swing door into the ward. 

It was at least an hour after handover but Delia looked hopefully for Kitty. At that moment the round, bustling figure emerged, a kidney dish in her right hand, from the bay where Charlie had been treated, the curtains still pulled. Delia’s heart sank as she gazed at the kidney dish, knowing what it signified. She moved to where Kitty had stilled, waiting for the approach of the trainee. The small, round nurse placed a light hand on Delia’s wrist, causing an involuntary wince, she shook her head gently and Deila’s eyes filled with tears. 

‘Is this your first?’ asked Kitty, softly. ‘It does get easier, I promise.’ 

‘Can I see him?’ 

Kitty nodded. She removed her hand.

‘Be quick, you should have gone home by now.’

Delia slipped through the break in the curtains, the stillness in the enclosed bay was terrible. Moving to the bed Delia heard the click of her shoes against the linoleum, obscene in the silence; she looked down on Charlie’s face. The skin around the jowls was smooth, the merest trace of pain showed around the wrinkles nearest the eyes. Delia was not unused to death; she thought back to the first time she had helped at lambing time, aged eight. The visceral shock of the brutality of birth and death were brought vividly home after the stillbirth of a tiny, black and white lamb. Gwen’s Uncle Wynn had seized the forelegs with a muttered curse and tossed the lifeless animal into the gutter of the lambing shed. Delia had accepted it, grown up with the natural cycle of living and dying writ large in the passing of every season. This was different. 

Delia smoothed the grey hair about the temples, irritating herself with the shock she felt at the waxy coldness under her fingers. She bent close to Charlie’s motionless face, her lips close to his ear. 

‘I will tell her Charlie, I promise.’


	24. Remembering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patsy takes care of a bewildered Delia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Job number two finally finished yesterday and I was more than delighted to write a chapter of this as welcome relief from a very stressful time. I feel like it might take me a while to get back into the flow of the characters and the style - the writing I have been doing recently doesn't require quite so much figurative thought!   
> Thanks for all your support so far, it's lovely reading everybody's comments and I look forward to catching up with a few fics I have missed! Sorry it's not quite pure fluff just yet!

The coldness of the air was like a slap as Delia made her way from the main hospital across the gravel path to the annexe of the nurses’ home. Her body and mind felt blunted. Her steps were slow, heavy and laboured but her mind jumped in half conceived and fractured patterns over the events of the day, solidifying into nothing. She prayed, with a zeal she rarely felt; appeals to God that she would not bump into Virginia. When she reached her own door having met nobody she felt a wave of relief but stilled momentarily to look up the corridor towards Patsy’s door. Base instinct pushed her to move towards it but tiredness, shock and grief were greater forces in the maelstrom. She heard the click of the latch sliding from its cradle in the door and could feel a sob of relief surging from her chest. She staggered into the dark room, she reached out her left arm to feel for the light switch and felt pain pulse in her wrist. She peeled off her coat and threw it at the high backed chair where it slithered to the ground like a drunk. By the time she reached the bed Delia’s breathing was laboured and a whimper escaped her. She sat, her arms propped behind her, shifted so the weight was focussed on her right side, and closed her eyes.

The day played before her inward eye like a fragmented film reel, chopped and flashing. Charlie joking and winking. Virginia riven to the floor and then bearing down on her. Kitty’s sad shake of the head to confirm what she already knew. Patsy’s voice, low and intimate, in her ear. And then, louder, beyond the confines of her rattling memory.

‘I thought you promised me you were all mine tonight?’

Delia lowered her face and opened her eyes. Watched Patsy’s expression shift instantly from gentle teasing to focussed concern.

‘Oh heavens, Deels, what on Earth has happened?’ Patsy hurried from her station by the door where she had let herself in and sat beside her friend.

‘Well I suppose that confirms that I look as terrible as I feel,’ said Delia, weakly.

Patsy didn’t reply, she merely moved silently to the bed and sat down, the mattress bowed under the combined pressure and they both shifted slightly so that their bodies mirrored the other, knees an inch from touching. Delia sat forward, her hands limp in her lap, Patsy’s lay flat against her thighs, the fingers twitching. Delia stared at the nervous movement and then as Patsy reached across and laid her fingers gently over Delia’s right hand.

‘Tell me.’

‘A patient died, said Delia. She paused. The stark simplicity of the statement sounded faintly ridiculous. She was a nurse. Patients were going to die. She felt her eyes flood. ‘I thought I had helped him.’

‘Was it Charlie Porter?’ asked Patsy, sotto voce, as Delia felt her friend’s eyes try to meet her own. Delia’s brow furrowed in confusion as she allowed her reddened eyes to flit to Patsy’s searching blue.

  ‘Yes, how? How did you know?’

‘You told me, or Kitty did, that you’d helped him. One made a rather lucky guess.’ Patsy’s voice was level, still quiet.

‘I know patients will die. I know that I will have to get used to it,’ Delia’s voice was earnest. ‘It was just, I don’t know, shocking. So very, final. And he was so frightened Pats.’ Delia’s voice caught in a sob again as she heard Patsy’s voice shift in tone; low and insistent.

‘I used to think that death was frightening. I used to rail against it all of the time. In the camp. I saw so many people die, I watched them fade away or be caught in the grip of some awful disease that ruined them, laid waste to their bodies, or minds, or both. I so badly wanted to help. After my mother and sister died and it was clear I wasn’t going to follow them I went, every day, down to the medical tent, such as it was, and did jobs, tried to clean up. You’d think a small girl would be shooed away, I wasn’t. There was all manner of people. Death doesn’t discriminate. One learns that quickly. I thought Death was cruel. Then I learnt he isn’t. I stopped railing. I won’t ever stop fighting if somebody can be helped, be saved, but death can be welcome. Sometimes Death can come to take away suffering and we can help with that too.’

Delia moved her left hand to cover Patsy’s fingers which had gripped her own just a little more tightly during the speech. She looked at Patsy’s face, turned slightly away, her gaze fixed on a point nearly two decades earlier, her right incisor worrying at her bottom lip. Delia felt a surge of affectionate gratitude. It was painfully explicit from Patsy’s stiffened shoulders and emotional absence that she had found the confession excruciating and Delia felt a fresh wave of feeling at the realisation that Patsy had spoken, not to unburden herself, but to help Delia cope.

‘Thank you,’ whispered Delia, breaking into Patsy’s glass-eyed reverie. Patsy turned and contemplated Delia’s face for a moment before a tiny, thin lipped smile appeared.

‘It’s remembering that matters. Death can’t take away anybody entirely if they live on in somebody’s heart.’

‘Charlie asked me to tell his wife that he loved her.’ Delia again felt the prick of tears.

‘That’s the very best thing that you can do for him,’ said Patsy, urgent warmth in her voice. ‘Don’t cry Deels, you absolutely can do some good here.’

Patsy moved her free hand to Delia’s cheek, brushed away a tear with her thumb, her long fingers resting gently against Delia’s jawline. Delia’s stomach turned like a murmuration in full flight. She swallowed thickly. She knew her eyes were resting on Patsy’s lips, full and augmented by a layer of bright red. She felt the air expelled from her nostrils and the contraction of her diaphragm. She heard Virginia’s voice in the recesses of her mind. _What you are_. It didn’t matter. Every nerve ending in her body danced in anticipation. She was working on instinct alone, rational thought driven out by excited compulsion. She brought her eyes up to meet Patsy’s, watching her carefully, she wondered if her own were as wide and expectant. Her left hand moved from her lap to cup the side of Patsy’s face but as her fingers made contact with the soft skin she winced, her eyes narrowing in pain.

‘Deels? Delia? What’s the matter with your wrist?’

Patsy had moved backward; she tenderly grasped Delia’s arm at the elbow with one hand and let the damaged wing rest on her other hand. The gaze of both women focussed on the swollen limb, Delia was certain they were avoiding each other’s eyes. She sighed and contemplated revealing what had happened in the bright, clinical glare of the sluice room. The implicit threat of Virginia’s words forced their way into Delia’s consciousness thought. _She might not have realised._ Delia was aware of her thoughts unravelling,  spreading in patterns like Van Dyke lace. _What you are._ She resolved to keep it simple.

‘I fell,’ said Delia. ‘In the sluice.’

‘We need to get you sorted out, that looks like a nasty sprain.’ Patsy was brisk and efficient and Delia couldn’t help smiling.

‘Yes, Nurse Mount.’

‘Can you wait here whilst I go and get some supplies? Perhaps you should put your pyjamas on, if you can manage it?’ Patsy stood up, brushed her hands against the tops of her thighs; dusting herself down in workman like fashion and rested her hands on her hips. Delia watched, her eyes still on the long, elegant fingers that had, moments before, been sitting in her lap, before she let her gaze drink in the whole sight. As if for the first time Delia saw just how beautiful Patsy was, yet it was more than that, plenty of the girls were tall, elegant and sophisticated in the way that class and good breeding often supplied. Patsy was striking. Her reserved nature which so many took as cold indifference, gave her an ethereal quality only exacerbated by her physical qualities. As a child Delia had taken great delight in collecting the spindrift heads from cotton grass, now Patsy’s soft skin reminded her of the opaque white beneath her fingers, she wondered, almost idly, what the almost translucent skin of Patsy’s collarbone would feel like under her fingertips. _Unnatural._ She gulped and forced her attention back to the room.

She nodded mutely. And Patsy was gone, the door settling back into its frame with a click. The room felt oddly bright as Delia stood and shuffled tiredly to the wash basin. She grasped the cool, smooth curve of porcelain, allowed it to take some of her weight, looked appraisingly at her face. She was slate-grey, tired rings beginning to show under the still puffy eyes and her fringe had separated and split, untidily. She narrowed her eyes at the weary, defeated girl in the mirror and spoke aloud.

‘A greater fool than Delia Busby has never breathed the breath of life.’ She tried to remember the rest of the quote. Fatigue fogged her mind. ‘You bloody fantastic idiot.’


	25. Keep Warm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Delia and Patsy's first Christmas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still struggling to get back into the flow but massively encouraged by all the feedback. I know exactly where this is headed but worried we might be a little low on plot at the moment! I hope I have done HT's idea justice as I flagrantly steal it. I like the idea that what we see on CTM might be a reflection of a an unseen former life for Patsy and Delia.

‘What’s so funny?’ asked Patsy, tetchily, looking up from her task.

‘Nothing really Pats, it’s just rather sweet that you give as much effort to paper-chains as you do everything else. I think you’ve done about twice as many as everybody else.’ There was laughter and warmth in Delia’s voice but she sensed the other woman’s irritation had not abated.

‘They are terribly frustrating,’ said Patsy. ‘My fingers are cut to ribbons.’

‘Perhaps we can put those up for Christmas too?’ suggested Delia with deliberate innocence, rising from her window seat in the recreation room and moving towards where Patsy sat in an armchair, hunched over an array of coloured paper strips.

‘Let me see?’ asked Delia, holding out her hand. Patsy duly obliged and placed her upturned palms in Delia’s left hand, recently divested of the bandage worn for two weeks subsequent to the death of Charlie Porter. The latter blushed. Even the press of the back of Patsy’s hand sent a current sparking through her palm. She pushed away the thoughts and feelings the touch inspired and instead lightly touched the cuts with her right fingertips, gave Patsy a very level stare and spoke solemnly.

‘Hmmm, might be arterial, you have about seven minutes. Any last requests?’

Patsy raised her eyebrows and smiled but said nothing and Delia cringed inwardly as she felt her blush deepen. The door to the recreation room opened and Delia heard the familiar clipped tones of Virginia and Jeanie before she saw the two nurses. She dropped Patsy’s hand more abruptly than she intended and saw a brief shadow of surprise and hurt ghost over her friend’s face. Delia smiled down at her in reparation.

‘You’ll live, I think.’

Patsy responded with a half-smile that danced in her eyes.

‘I’m not sure about your bedside manner Nurse Busby.’

At that moment, Patsy too became aware of the other girls now in the recreation room, she dropped her eyes to the paper-chains, the smile gone and her face an impassive mask of concentration. Delia returned to the window seat and retrieved Jane Eyre from its spread-eagled position on the cushion. As she settled she glanced upwards and smiled again at Patsy’s bent, blonde head and busy hands; she became aware of Virginia in her peripheral vision behind the straight, tall back of Patsy’s chair and across the large room. She was looking directly at Delia and scowling. Delia was astounded when Virginia strode over and lent against Patsy’s chair, Delia felt a wash of anxious nausea rush through her stomach as she grinned malevolently at Delia over Patsy’s head, the latter turning her face upwards and clearly registering surprise. 

‘The Christmas advance rosters are up outside Matron’s office. I just assumed you two would both be working, I assumed you would both have volunteered.’

‘I did volunteer; I have no family with whom to spend Christmas so I am more than happy to be where I am needed and can be useful,’ said Patsy casually, apparently failing to perceive the insinuation. Delia looked hard at Patsy, ignoring Virginia. In her own excitement about going home it had not occurred to her that Patsy would be working over the holiday period; alone for Christmas. Guilt and sadness fought for prominence in her emotions and she wanted to comfort Patsy in some way. She felt Virginia’s eyes on her and mastered her facial expression lest she give the tall nurse further ammunition.

‘I’m off back to Pembrokeshire,’ said Delia, far more lightly than she felt. ‘I think my mam would kill me if I missed her Christmas dinner. She’s probably started cooking the brussels and if I know anything she’ll be hitting Ta with the rolling pin to keep him off the mince pies until I get back, they’re my favourite.’

Patsy looked up at Delia and chuckled. Delia smiled back. Virginia tutted, turned away and stalked back to Jeanie who was writing Christmas cards at a table, unaware of the exchange by the bay window. Patsy looked back to her paperchains. Delia tried to focus on her novel but struggled, her eyes repeatedly drifting to the crown of Patsy’s head as it bent over the festive decorations. She watched her friend’s hands working at the paper chains like looms in a mill.

The days raced by as the first term neared its conclusion. Work became less onerous as even Nurse Foster became infused with Christmas cheer; wishing Delia the compliments of the season as she left her final shift on her first placement. Kitty had hugged her tightly and assured her that once her training was over Delia would likely find an opening on the ward if she wanted it, and added with a mischievous grin that it might be more likely if she was a little more willing to keep her diagnostic skills under wraps until such time as she decided to retrain as a surgeon. Delia was delighted to receive various small tokens of gratitude from patients, the plentiful supply of cigarettes she passed on to a grateful Patsy whilst she created an abundant fruitbowl on the dressing table of her room. As the hour of her departure approached Delia gazed down at her packed suitcase, open on the bed. The brown paper of several Christmas presents tied with red ribbon created the top layer and Delia smiled in anticipation of the giving of gifts. She reached across her bedspread and closed the lid of her case as a brief knock sounded at the door. Delia smiled expansively as Patsy entered, one hand behind her back.

‘I’ve come to say goodbye old thing.’

‘I really wish I had asked mam if you could have come home with me,’ sighed Delia.

‘I know Deels, you keep saying it and I am terribly touched but somebody has to work and I’m more than used to spending time on my own.’ Patsy gave a wide smile but Delia recognised it immediately as the façade of social preservation she had seen employed so often in the last fourteen weeks

‘I will miss you,’ said Delia, quietly. Patsy pressed her lips together, evidently fighting a rising tide of emotion.

‘I’ll miss you too.’ Patsy’s voice was a whisper as she held Delia’s gaze, until she gave a tiny shake of her head as if emerging from a reverie, her tone sounding distant, unnaturally light. ‘Oh, I almost forgot.’

Patsy brought the concealed hand from behind her back and presented Delia with a small package. It was wrapped in red tissue paper and tied with a green ribbon.

‘Oh Pats,’ exclaimed Delia delighted. ‘You didn’t need to get me a gift!’

Patsy smiled, her eyebrows raised and her dimples showing, as Delia stepped forward and took the parcel from her friend’s hand in both of hers. It was soft under her fingers and she transferred it to one hand as she stepped back from Patsy and towards her wardrobe. She fiddled with the door, feeling Patsy’s eyes on her. The sensation making her fluster for a moment.

‘Take a seat,’ called Delia as she bent, her voice muffled by the remaining clothes in the wardrobe. ‘Just move the case.’

Patsy lifted the suitcase to the end of the bed and settled herself on the counterpane still watching Delia through slightly narrowed eyes. The older nurse smiled, her right lip twitching upwards distinctively, as Delia emerged from the wardrobe holding a brown-paper wrapped packet of similar size to the one she had received moments earlier. Feeling suddenly shy Delia approached Patsy, sat on her bed and handed her the present. Patsy patted the space next to her with her free hand as she grasped the package and Delia sank into the mattress.

‘You go first,’ she said, abashed, her south Wales lilt more pronounced than usual.

‘Let’s go together,’ replied Patsy, before adding. ‘Do you know what Delia, it’s years since anybody bought me a Christmas present. Thank you.’

‘Oh Pats.’ Delia looked aghast at her friend who spoke without a trace of self-pity at the revelation.

‘Go on, open it.’ Patsy hooked her thumb under the ribbon and paused until Delia followed her lead. The two women fell silent for a moment as their fingers worked at the loosely wrapped parcels. Both exclaimed with delight and a simultaneous shout of laughter as they held up their gifts. Delia’s fingers worked against the soft, delicate fabric of a beautiful teal scarf. She wondered if it was cashmere, so soft and tactile was the wool. Patsy let the material of her own newly acquired shawl run through her fingers and pool in her lap. It was a deep burgundy, flecked with rusty orange.

‘Great minds Deels,’ laughed Patsy, turning slightly to look at the smaller woman. Unexpectedly, she reached across and lifted the scarf from Delia’s fingers, finding the two ends she reached across yet further. Delia’s heart began to hammer at the nearness of Patsy’s body to her own. She felt a momentary constriction of breath like a weight pressed into her lungs. Delia looked into Patsy’s eyes as the latter stretched her arms around Delia’s neck, over her head and wrapped the scarf gently around her. Delia gave a sharp intake of breath. Patsy held the scarf between her forefinger and thumb and her middle finger grazed the skin of Delia’s collarbone. Patsy smiled and moved her eyes to the job in hand, tying the scarf in a loose knot. Delia was certain that she heard a shift in Patsy’s tone as she spoke again; thicker, deeper, rich with feeling.

‘Merry Christmas Deels.’ Patsy smiled. ‘Keep warm.’


	26. Battle Won

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delia returns to the London.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for all of the support. This and the next chapter are my take on the really odd line Patsy delivers about wanting to be out with the juniors from the London when she and Trixie are saying goodbye to Cynthia. I think it is fair to say Delia is fully appraised of her feelings now - we're just waiting for the right moment :)

Delia was exhausted. She hauled the suitcase onto her bed and unbuttoned the large buttons on her woollen coat, staring glass eyed at the encroaching dusk outside the window. It was mid-afternoon and the December darkness was falling as rapidly as the driving rain that ran in insistent rivulets down the glass. It was hours since she had said goodbye to her mother and Gwen who had both walked to the village station to see her off. Her mother fretting about the cold and Gwen about losing Delia to the bright lights of London once again. More than anything Delia wanted a cup of tea and for her suitcase to unpack itself.

She dragged her consciousness back to her battered portmanteau and sighed. In many ways she had yearned for her new life in London despite the contentment she had felt on her Christmas break. She looked around the room and smiled briefly at the familiar outlines of her rather stark hospital accommodation. She had missed it. She had missed the routine of work, of meal times, of friendship. 

‘I saw your door open and guessed you were back.’ Delia jumped at the sound of Patsy’s voice and span on her heels. Patsy smiled; proffered a cup of tea in a regulation green tea cup.

‘How did you know that seeing you with a cup of tea in your hand is the precise best thing that could have happened right now.’ Delia flushed a little and hurried to continue, taking a sip of tea as her question ended. ‘How was Christmas?’

‘Oh rather quiet but perfectly passable. It was very jolly on the ward I was asked to cover, even if the juniors were a little too keen with the mistletoe! How was Pembrokeshire?’

Delia gave a tight smile, irritated by the tide of jealousy that flooded through her at the image of Patsy being kissed by various junior doctors. She fought to widen her smile.

‘It was lovely thank you. I think Mam was trying especially hard with the hope of convincing me that I wouldn’t want to come home.’

‘Well, I am very glad to see you old thing, it’s splendid to have you home.’

Delia heard Patsy mirror her words; a warm pleasure pushed out the envy until it felt like her veins throbbed with contentment. She took another gulp of tea and watched as Patsy flipped open the lid of her case and began shaking out the few garments she had brought back from Wales.

‘You don’t have to do that Pats, I can manage.’

‘It’s my pleasure, and anyway there’s a mothers’ meeting in the recreation room at 6pm and I’m not going without back-up.’ Patsy crossed to the wardrobe and removed several hangers at once, as she walked back to the bed she met Delia’s gaze, the latter’s head cocked in question. ‘Oh, I think Jeanie has another one of her ideas for a social, something about making merry with all the juniors from the London on New Year’s Eve.’

‘Are you going?’ asked Delia, tentatively.

‘To the social? I thought I might, if you were,’ answered Patsy, rather shyly. Delia’s face split with a grin.

Seated in the recreation room in her favourite high backed chair and Patsy seated on the arm, as if poised for a hasty retreat, Delia surveyed the room and tried not to look at the swell of Patsy’s thigh, resting inches from her upper arm. She caught the end of a fierce glare from Virginia in an opposite armchair and bestowed a deliberately beneficent smile. There was an excited chatter through the room and it appeared most of the girls were back from their few days of Christmas holidays. Asking for a moment of quiet, Jeanie briefly outlined the plans for the following evening, leaving the room buzzing with fevered conversation as she concluded.

‘It’s exciting, isn’t it?’ asked Jane, leaning in towards Delia. ‘A chance to dance with some dashing young doctors?’

Delia grimaced. She felt entirely conflicted about the prospect of what was to come and glanced, reflexively, upwards to where Patsy was twisted away from her to talk to another trainee.

‘It will be nice to have an evening out with everybody,’ she answered, evasively.

‘Oh, I forget that you already have somebody.’

The blood drained from Delia’s face. Her eyes flicked to Virginia’s chair. Panic threatened to engulf her, her shoulders tensed and she felt a ridiculous desire to run.

‘What?’ Delia was aware her voice was strained, barely more than a whisper but Jane ploughed on, apparently oblivious to the fact Delia was like a cornered wild animal.

‘Did he get you something awfully romantic for Christmas?’

Gareth.

Delia audibly exhaled and realised she had not breathed for several seconds.

‘Well, he delivered a Jacob lamb on Christmas Day and called it Delia.’

Jane squealed, making Delia recoil slightly and several of the girls surrounding her armchair look in the direction of the noise.

‘That is just adorable,’ cooed the fair-haired nurse, before she turned to the intrigued faces around her and clapped her hands together delightedly. ‘Delia’s chap named a baby lamb after her for her Christmas present, isn’t that just the most delectable thing.’

Delia stared at her hands in her lap willing the ground to swallow her whole, as many of the girls clucked and fussed.She closed her eyes when she heard Virginia’s acerbic response.

‘Funny, I wouldn’t have thought sensible old Delia would have gone in for silly love tokens from men.’

The diminutive Welsh woman shrank back in her chair hearing the slap of insinuation just as she felt the press of Patsy’s thigh against her arm as the older woman shifted her position. When she spoke Delia recognised the clipped, overly light tones that Patsy reserved for moments of deep irritation.

‘Jealousy is such an unseemly emotion Virginia, I’m sure there will be plenty of juniors just dying to shower you with affection and presents after tomorrow. I’m not sure what love tokens their work will throw up though – a discarded appendix perhaps?’

Discomforted amusement rippled through several of the girls as Virginia narrowed her eyes and rose from her chair, tossing her words behind her as she left the room.

‘Very droll Patience.’

As Delia and Patsy walked side by side back to their respective rooms Delia was surprised to feel Patsy’s fingers on her forearm, stilling her movement. She looked up to find a pair of searching blue eyes boring into her own.

‘Delia,’ Patsy hesitated and Delia’s diaphragm contracted with nervous tension. ‘What happened between you and Virginia? She seems to rather have it in for you?’

Delia flicked her gaze away for a moment with a slight tilt of her head. Considered her response. A sense of fear, the notion that she might lose Patsy filtered through her consciousness, whilst her chest tightened with emotion that Patsy had both fought her corner and cared. It was not in Delia’s nature to be deceptive and she spoke slowly, her voice dark and brittle as bonfire toffee, ensuring that what she said was at least partly the truth.

‘I honestly don’t understand what her problem is Pats.’


	27. On the Cusp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delia and Patsy get ready for the dawn of a new year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realise that I am repeating myself but the encouragement from the comments is really amazing. I realise that this is now getting really long and I am debating whether it needs splitting into two fics - I have not been around long enough to know whether it is just acceptable to keep adding! Any pointers?

Delia rapped loudly on Patsy’s door, her knuckles striking a far more confident chord than she herself felt. She looked down at her dress, sunshine yellow and flicked out at the thigh, she fretted that it was not appropriate for a winter event but her musing was interrupted by a voice through the wood.

‘Deels, is that you?’

Delia raised an amused eyebrow. Given Patsy’s social reticence it was unlikely anybody else would calling on her.

‘Yes.’

The door opened, but nobody appeared to be stood behind the swinging wood. Delia furrowed her brow and followed the movement so that she stood within the threshold. An unseen hand pushed the door shut and Delia tuned to see Patsy stood gazing at her forlornly. The Welsh nurse swallowed thickly.

‘I’m sorry to simply stand here in my scanties but I have been aimlessly wrestling with my own back for an hour. I just took the thing off to see if I could fix the blasted fastenings when it wasn’t on me but no luck.’

Delia took in the sight before her. Modesty compelled her to look away but the frank nature of Patsy’s confession and a rising tide of desire left Delia’s eyes riveted to the willowy figure stood bad-temperedly tapping her fingers against her waist where ivory silk met ivory silk. Delia noted the swell of Patsy’s breasts as they disappeared inside the lace edged dip of her brassiere, the smooth wall of silk against a sculptured stomach, the short distance between where Patsy’s knicker line started and ended against her milk white thighs. Desperate to keep her mind and hands occupied Delia dragged her eyes back to Patsy’s and clasped her hands demurely in front of her.

‘Can I help?’

‘Oh, would you?’ Patsy’s tone was so earnest that Delia felt ashamed. She flicked her head an inch from side to side as if dispelling the image of Patsy in such a state of undress and gave her friend what she hoped was a sympathetic smile. ‘If I get the wretched thing on can you help fasten it?’

Delia watched as Patsy slipped on a crimson dress over her head. Without speaking she turned her back. The opening of the dress gaped and Delia stepped forward, her brow furrowed in concentration. She smiled as Patsy spoke into the empty room and wished that she could see the taller woman’s face as she spoke.

‘You look lovely Deels, yellow really suits you.’

‘I hope my hands aren’t cold,’ said Delia, glad that Patsy couldn’t see the slight tremor in her fingers as she raised them to where tiny hooks and eyes winked at one another across Patsy’s back. She shuffled herself into a position closer to Patsy and pinched the awkward fastenings between forefinger and thumb in each hand, she saw her friend shiver involuntarily. ‘Sorry Pats.’

Silence fell as Delia worked at the clasps feeling Patsy’s flesh, supple and pliant, under her fingers as the material of the dress pulled together and Patsy straightened up, exacerbating her natural poise. As Delia reached the final fastener at the nape of Patsy’s neck she ran her hands over the defined shoulder blades as if ironing out creases and stepped backwards. Delia glanced up and down at Patsy as she took the cue and turned. The dress clung to the lines and curves of her figure so that body and fabric seemed to become one, the neckline was round and low, the expanse of pale skin like moonlight against dark sky. It finished in straight lines brushing the tops of Patsy’s knees exposing long, slender calves. Delia’s mouth was suddenly dry. Patsy raised her eyebrows as Delia’s gaze flickered back to her face. Patsy’s usual self-assurance about her appearance looked to be wavering for a moment in the face of her friend’s silence and Delia smiled.

‘You’ll do.’

Delia felt nervous as she entered the rather dingy function suite of the local hotel where groups of people ranged around the outside of the room, a buzz of chatter and laughter reverberated off the high ceiling. She recognised the majority of the people she saw as nurses, trainees and doctors from the hospital; Kitty was leaning casually against the windowsill opposite, several of the juniors she had come across during her first placement were dotted about, she could see Jane engrossed in conversation with a young looking man who Delia thought was an orderly. Delia was not sure she had ever been in such a large social group before and she nipped her bottom lip with her teeth in an attempt to discover her usual resolve. She rested her hand on the dado rail, feeling the greasy sheen she withdrew her hand quickly and rubbed her fingertips together. She wondered how Patsy was feeling, knowing her friend was generally unhappy in large crowds and half turned to seek her out. Patsy was several feet behind her, chatting animatedly to two of the girls from the training school. Patsy looked up from her conversation, her eyes raking the room until she lighted on Delia and smiled. She looked radiant, happy and relaxed and Delia felt her stomach drop as she gave a shy smile back. She watched as Patsy excused herself and made her way over to where Delia was standing.

‘I was worried I had lost you,’ she said quietly, bending to speak directly into Delia’s ear. Delia felt the movement of her lips against her hair and the sensation made her shiver while the words made her diaphragm clench. ‘I hate these things but sometimes one must simply paint on a smile and buckle down. I think a drink might help – what can I get you?’

Delia turned her head and looked directly at Patsy. She searched her friend’s face, amazed at the ease with which she could create a façade. Patsy’s face was impassive, her hands clasped at her stomach, her stance upright and unreadable.

‘I think I’ll have a port and lemon,’ said Delia, uncertainly. ‘Thank you.’

Patsy moved off and Delia was delighted that, after a moment of standing alone, shifting diffidently from foot to foot, Kitty appeared at her elbow, smiling broadly.

‘Delia!’ Kitty’s voice was loud and Delia smiled at the distinctive, blunted vowel at the end of her name. ‘Did you have a good Christmas?’

‘Lovely thank you. Did you?’

Kitty rolled her eyes in hyperbolic disdain.

‘Oh yes, there’s nothing better than being vomited on. Twice. Before breakfast, on Christmas Day. Puts you right off your pudding I can tell you.’

Delia gave an amused chuckle and Kitty joined in, putting her hand lightly on Delia’s bicep and leaning in as she spoke again.

‘The joy of nursing eh?’

Patsy reappeared through the throng, carefully manoeuvring with two full glasses. She watched Kitty carefully, her eyes flitting to the hand on Delia’s arm. Delia smiled as she broke free from Kitty’s touch by extending the arm to receive her drink.

‘Pats,’ she said carefully. ‘You remember Kitty?’

‘Of course, how are you?’ Patsy asked, smiling tightly.

‘Happy to be here instead of trapped at the London. Well it’s always nice to let your hair down, isn’t it? Yours looks lovely down by your shoulders by the way Delia!’

Patsy’s eyes narrowed; slits, like post boxes, through which she looked down at the lively, rotund nurse.

Delia smiled broadly and squeezed Kitty’s hand with her free fingers. Patsy looked on impassively as Kitty spoke again, glancing at the tall nurse but directing her speech to Delia.

‘If I’m being truthful I have my eye on somebody,'

‘Can you tell us?’

‘You remember Dr Black? The locum? Well, he, Robbie, wrote me a letter when he left, saying he’d be back around the new year and he’d like to get to know me better. I saw him come in with Dr Hannover earlier.’

Kitty glanced up and her gaze roamed about the room, Patsy sipped her drink, her shoulders visibly relaxing as Delia nodded enthusiastically her smile broadening yet further.

‘That’s very exciting Kitty. I am so pleased.’ Delia’s voice was rich with warmth, her Celtic lilt hitting the vowels of every word like a glockenspiel. Kitty grinned, reached again for Delia’s arm and after a quick squeeze and a glance towards Patsy she was gone, lost in the crowd. Delia watched her retreating back before looking back towards Patsy.

‘It’s nice, isn’t it? That romance is in the air on the cusp of a new year?’

Patsy licked her lips, her eyes fliting away to the throng of people and then back to Delia. She seemed reticent about speaking leaning again towards Delia, who cocked her head instinctively to listen in the noisy room.

‘I’m not sure that having a boyfriend is the be all and end all.’

Delia’s was certain that her heart pulsed visibly. She sipped her port and lemon, the alcohol searing the back of her throat just as the lemonade hit her teeth in a gulf of sugar. She dared not risk an answer.


	28. Happy New Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delia seizes her chance (it is New Year's Eve after all!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with the glacial pace everybody! Perhaps finally they are reaching the same page, at least for the moment! It's amazing what a port and lemon can do for your gumption. As mentioned before I felt compelled to try to explain why Patsy is so inexplicably keen to apparently go out with the juniors at New Year. This is my take!

The following hours were exquisite torture for Delia as she watched Patsy move effortlessly about the dance floor, smiling and holding onto the large hands of several junior doctors who had approached the table at which they had eventually found themselves. Whilst watching Patsy intently Delia failed to notice the arrival of Jeanie who, inadvertently, prevented her from dancing with anybody by gaily informing the table that Delia had a terribly nice chap back home in Wales who named lambs after her. Delia gave a thin-lipped smile as Jeanie recounted the tale, acutely aware that if anybody now approached her to dance it would look, at best, morally questionable to accept.

With a lull in the conversation allowing Delia a chance to again seek out Patsy with her eyes, she sighed heavily. Patsy was smiling broadly at a junior doctor that Delia thought worked on ENT. She appraised him for a moment. She supposed he was good looking. His chest was broad, hard and defined through his shirt and jacket, his jaw was strong giving an effortless impression of confidence – not unlike Patsy Delia mused - and even from a distance Delia could ascertain that his face was symmetrical and well proportioned. Yet all she could really focus on was where his hands were resting on Patsy’s hips, where the fabric of the scarlet dress had ruched up a little under his large fingers. Delia’s head cocked an inch to the right and her lids fell heavily over her eyes for a moment as her jaw clenched. When she opened her eyes again the pair had danced away, lost in the sea of couples. Staring morosely at her drink, Delia ran her forefinger around the top of the glass and felt suddenly very alone. She took a large mouthful, rich and fruity; staring hard at the remaining liquid she pushed it away, the glass leaving a smear of dark red like clotting blood. She scraped back her chair, the noise grated on her.

Patsy arrived back just as Delia was making her excuses to the three girls still seated and chatting at their table. There was a note of disappointment, even reproach, in Patsy’s voice.

‘Oh Deels, you aren’t going home without me?’

‘I’m tired Pats, I haven’t danced, thanks to Jeanie,’ Patsy raised her eyebrows in question but Delia shrugged the comment away. ‘And given my track record I need to be careful Matron doesn’t catch me doing anything. Even on New Year’s Eve.’

‘Let me walk you home?’

Delia’s tongue felt stiff in her mouth, like unworn shoe leather. The result was staccato.

‘No, stay, enjoy yourself. Dance somemore.’

‘There is only so much toe treading and lewd innuendos one person can take,’ grumbled Patsy. Delia smiled, her lips snagging up at both ends until shallow dimple appeared.

‘Are you sure you want to go? Delia looked at Patsy’s earnest blue eyes and found the answer. Her face was flushed from alcohol and dancing, her expression more open than usual. ‘Come on then.’

The walk home was filled with laughter, Delia having dispelled her moment of maudlin contemplation in the face of Patsy’s observant anecdotes about various people at the party and the nearness of their bodies as they occasionally bumped arms. The night was clear, biting cold and Delia rather aimlessly pushed at the lapels of her coat over the yellow dress trying to shut out the sting of the north-westerly that skittered around them. Patsy looked down and halted, turning her body towards Delia’s and momentarily blocking her path. Delia paused and her hands fell to her sides as Patsy reached up with her own and gently took the lapels in a loose fist. She tugged them together, her head on one side, looking first at where her hands were working and then at Delia’s face, her features a Picasso of dark and light in the London street

‘Keep warm Deels.’ There was an almost imperceptible tremor in her voice before she turned again to face the direction of the nurses’ home and spoke again more clearly. ‘Fancy a night cap when we get back?’

Delia nodded into the darkness, smiling.

‘Take a pew old thing,’ Patsy said, removing her coat and hanging it carefully. ‘Oh, and give me your coat.’

‘Actually, Pats, do you mind if I go back to my own room for a moment and get my pyjamas on?’

Patsy pursed her lips together in amusement and smiled softly.

‘Only if you do something really rather crucial for me first?’

‘Anything.’ Delia bit her lip at the readiness of her answer but Patsy had turned her back.

‘Can you get me out of this?’

Delia inhaled through her nose, swallowed and exhaled in the same manner as she approached Patsy’s long, slim back rippling through the red fabric. She raised her fingers to the first of the hook and eye fastenings and had to rest her fingertips against the curve of the neckline to still the trembling that had taken hold. Patsy flexed her shoulders against the touch and sighed quietly. Delia worked at the clasps until Patsy could move freely; as she began to remove the dress Delia slipped out noiselessly. When she returned, Delia was wearing a neat pair of striped flannel pyjamas and she smiled to see Patsy reclining on the bed in a slightly too large set of her own, head and shoulders propped up against the walnut headboard as she sipped at a generous measure of scotch.

‘I have taken the liberty of pouring you one.’ Patsy nodded at a tumbler on the bedside table, a quarter full of amber liquid. She pushed herself up against the headboard and shuffled further to the edge of the bed. Delia read this as a sign to sit down and she sat on the nearest side of the bed, swung her legs around and edged up until she too had her back rested against the curved slats of the headrest. Reaching around Delia seized the small glass and brought herself round to a forward-facing position. She flicked her eyes to Patsy who was sipping her single malt.

‘Cheers Pats.’ Delia’s voice was quiet, she sounded shy in the half light of the bedroom illuminated only by Patsy’s bedside lamp throwing its circle of light at the ceiling above their heads.

‘Cheers,’ Patsy said, moving her arm until she could chink her glass softy against Delia’s own.

There was a moment of silence. Delia raised the glass to her lips and relished the burn of the golden fire in her throat as she sipped the neat whisky. She sighed contentedly and wriggled slightly to a more comfortable position, after a moment she risked leaning her head against Patsy’s rotator cuff. Her head snapped back up however when Patsy spoke.

‘Did you have a really ghastly time tonight Deels?’

‘No.’ Delia replied, her voice heavy and tired. ‘It was fine. I liked being out of the hospital. I might have liked a dance but Jeanie told everybody I was Gareth’s girl. You looked as though you had fun though.’

‘Mmmm. Can I tell you something?’ Patsy sounded nervous and Delia’s heart clenched. She felt a forceful, visceral contraction in her gut and thought for a moment she was going to be physically sick. Her mind flashed back to the doctor in the tight shirt, his hands possessively around Patsy’s middle. She swilled the whisky in her glass aggressively, deflecting her jealousy into the swirling liquid.

‘You can tell me anything.’ Delia spoke quietly, inviting a confidence, one with which she did not feel entirely able to cope. She thought about the ease with which Patsy pasted on a brave face and gave her friend a reassuring squeeze of the arm. ‘Anything.’

‘It’s going to sound ridiculous.’ Patsy hesitated. Looked nervously towards Delia, who felt like she needed to hold on to something more tangible than a glass, her knuckles showed white as she gripped hard.

‘Go on,’ urged Delia. A thin-lipped smile briefly flashed across her face and she cocked her head slightly, her chin inclined towards Patsy.

‘Tonight, as I was dancing. I kept thinking how nice it would be if one could have danced with somebody one knew.’ Patsy paused, Delia felt her swallow. ‘Somebody like you, Deels.’

Delia turned her head and looked at Patsy, slowly Patsy turned her gaze downwards to Delia. Their eyes met and Patsy’s mouth twitched into a half smile.

‘Show me.’ Delia’s voice was thick with emotion. The alcohol swam in her veins, making her bolder than usual and the thrill of possibility over-rode all else. Patsy gave a short laugh and Delia’s heart sank but she found her glass being removed from her hands which then sat uselessly in front her. She shifted, sat more upright; she watched as Patsy lent awkwardly and placed the two glasses down on the floor by her bedside and swung her legs off the bed. Delia continued to follow her movements, mesmerised as she walked around the end of her bed and stretched out her right hand, her long tapering fingers bent towards the small woman who had stilled entirely.

‘Can I be on your dance card Nurse Busby?’ asked Patsy, playfully.

Delia reached for the proffered hand, felt the fingers close around her own. As Patsy gently pulled her up from her seated position Delia gripped a little more tightly relying on their support as she swung her legs off the bed and sprang upright to a standing position, still holding Patsy’s hand.

‘There’s no music,’ giggled Delia.

‘It doesn’t matter.’ Patsy’s voice was husky, barely more than a whisper as she used her left hand to pull Delia closer from the hip, leaving the fingers splayed on Delia’s lower back before she moved them gently up and then pressing firmly into the smooth back she felt beneath the rather course fabric of the pyjamas she edged even closer to Delia. ‘I’ll lead.’

Delia found herself moving around the small space in the austere nurses’ accommodation bedroom, instinctively following the slow progress of the taller woman who held her close. The nearness was intoxicating to Delia and she breathed in Patsy’s scent; musk, cigarettes and a faint clinical undertone, bleach or Dettol or antiseptic.

‘You haven’t trodden on my toes once,’ said Patsy over Delia’s head, slowing the pace and shifting slightly so that Delia instinctively pirouetted, her hand held above her head. When she stilled, Patsy shifted her hands again so that she had one hand on Delia’s hip and another on her left arm. Inches separated them as Patsy spoke again.

‘Thank you Deels, you’ve made this evening rather more enjoyable than it promised to be. In future whenever I think of hijinx with the junior doctors on New Year’s Eve I shall think of you, here. And I will be dancing with you in my head.’

‘Oh,’ Delia looked across at the bedside clock, squat and functional. ‘It’s gone midnight Pats. Happy New Year.’

Swallowing a tight bundle of nerves that threatened to close her throat Delia stood on tip toes and gently placed her cheek against Patsy’s cheek, moving in just close enough to press her lips against the skin. She felt the soft down there and then it disappeared as Patsy smiled and Delia’s lips got lost in the indentation of an emerging dimple. 

‘Happy New Year Deels.’


	29. Something Queer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patsy and Delia look forward to starting their second placement but a day out doesn't go quite as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over 10,000 views is a bit surreal. Thank you!  
> The slow burn is almost over I promise.  
> Who would have thought that being a Mountain Leader would have led to the knowledge to write this chapter! All the Umbles for those who are in the know!

Chapter 29: Something Queer

Delia’s eyes widened slightly as Mr Slade wrenched a plastic baby through an impossibly small model of a birth canal. The drone of his voice was so at odds with the violence of his actions that Delia couldn’t be sure that she wasn’t dreaming. She physically winced as Slade pushed the pelvis apart and monosyllabically discussed crowning.

‘Are you quite alright Deels?’ whispered Patsy, her fingertips creeping over from her lap and resting briefly on Delia’s arm as it lay on a tensed lap and led to where clenched fingers held onto a notepad. Delia turned her head only slightly, eyes still on the man at the front of the lecture theatre as she dropped her voice to its lowest volume.

‘This is surreal. He’s wrenching that poor woman apart like a Hammer Horror but his voice is the most boring thing I have ever heard.’

Patsy supressed a giggle, forcing her lips together tightly but a dimple emerging despite her efforts.She squeezed the arm under her fingers and withdrew her hand.

‘Not long now – unless you get obs and gynae on your next placement.’

Patsy looked deeply abashed as a muttered ‘shush’ came from behind them and it was Delia’s turn to maintain a straight face. She scribbled ‘uterine contraction’ and ‘ouch, not on your life’ on her pad and was aware that Patsy’s shoulders had begun to shake silently.

‘You, Nurse Busby, are a terrible influence.’ Patsy’s lent into Delia’s personal space as they left the lecture hall. ‘But you just about got me through that.’

‘Glad to have been of service,’ responded Delia with a smile and an exaggerated pull on an imaginary cap.Their simultaneous laughter rang through the corridor.

‘Are you two still coming tomorrow? Day out to celebrate our last weekend off all together before we start shift work again?’

Delia looked towards the speaker but it was Patsy who replied.

‘Good afternoon Jane, absolutely we are.’ Patsy suddenly hesitated, stumbled a little. ‘That is, I am, I can’t speak for Delia of course.’

Delia frowned a little at Patsy’s awkwardness and turned to face Jane more fully. She was wearing a puzzled expression and small neat eyebrows were raised in question.

‘Yes, we’re both going. We’ll see you all at ten by the pillar monument.’ She smiled broadly at Jane as she turned away and repeated her question to a group of several other girls just behind Patsy and Delia. Delia looked hard at Patsy, whose jaw had set and who was resolutely not looking in the direction of the diminutive brunette, the latter knew her voice sounded small when it came. ‘Would you rather I didn’t come tomorrow Patsy?’

Patsy snapped her head round immediately. Blue met blue and Delia felt her heart lurch. It was two weeks since New Year’s Eve and neither of them had spoken about the easy intimacy they had shared, Delia was living in a state of pained, suspended belief that both everything, and nothing, had changed between them.

‘What, oh goodness, no. I don’t want you to think that.’ Patsy stopped walking, side stepped quickly out of the inexorable flow of girls heading to the final set of swing doors. She had gently grasped the underside of her friend’s arm, long fingers gently tugging Delia to the side of the long corridor. ‘You want to come, don’t you?’

Delia reached across her body with her free arm and pushed her fingers against those of the tall, blonde who was still holding her arm.

‘More than anything,’ she said warmly. ‘I have hardly seen you for a fortnight.’

The following day dawned crisp and cold. A hazy, white gold light drenched thin lawns where several nurses from the London had gathered under the imposing pillars of the Victoria Park monument. Patsy leant up against the sandstone brickwork with its foot of white stone, one leg bent back to rest against the ridges of the sock of the column. Her face was turned up slightly to face the weak sunlight and her eyes were closed as she automatically sought, and found, her parted lips with the lit cigarette between the fingers of her right hand. Delia watched her, her eyes flicked up and down over the long, elegant limbs and the effortless chic of a plaid coat matched with chequered slacks, and round Patsy’s neck the scarf, received as a gift at Christmas.

‘Seen something queer Delia?’ said Virginia, louder than the general chatter of the throng of girls. Several nearby halted their conversations and glanced over. Patsy opened her eyes and blinked hard against the light in her eyes, the cigarette momentarily forgotten. ‘You look as though you are not quite with us all.’

Delia’s fist clenched and she raised it instinctively to her mouth, pressing the flesh of her first finger into her lips, she straightened her first and middle fingers, pressing them again, as if in an imploration for her own silence, before removing them and smiling pleasantly at the sneering, taller woman holding her gaze.

‘Not at all Virginia, I was just thinking how well everybody scrubs up on their day off.’

Several of the girls smiled at Delia and Virginia huffed slightly as a nurse on the other side of the small throng called her name and she turned her back on the level stare of the Welsh girl. Delia felt Patsy at her side.

‘Do you fancy a stroll to the boating lake, old thing?’

Delia gave a very weak smile and nodded, following Patsy as she trotted down the few steps that led to the broad gravel path. Patsy waited at the foot of the stairs and allowed Delia to fall in step. They chatted easily as they made their way to other side of the park, their utterances made tangible by the clouds of condensation that hung in the cold air as they spoke their warm words. The park was busy. Couples sauntered arm in arm, children ranging from toddlers to teenagers chattered or slouched alongside their parents and several dogs ran in excited circles, their rasping barks echoing in the still winter atmosphere. So often the outsider, Delia smiled to herself; at that moment, alongside Patsy in Victoria Park, she felt she belonged in London, that she had a place in the world beyond the patchwork fields and stretching coasts of Pembrokeshire.

‘Thank you,’ she said, almost before she realised the words had been audible.

Patsy gave a short laugh.

‘For what?’

‘For being my friend I suppose.’ Delia flushed, felt the words hang, loaded, in the air.

‘I shall always be that Delia,’ said Patsy, quietly. ‘Care for a seat?’

Delia looked to where Patsy was gesturing with a slightly raised left arm. A bench faced an endless boating lake, the water squid ink black in the winter light, except where the wind pushed white horses towards the shore, their heads sending back the weak sunlight.

‘Goodness Pats, it’s lovely.’ Delia’s pleasure was simple, genuine, and Pasty’s face twitched into a smile as they lowered themselves simultaneously onto the slatted bench. Patsy crossed her legs, so impossibly long that she needed to twist slightly to allow her calves comfortable room and Delia had to force her attention away from the curve of the limbs in their fitted slacks and watched as Patsy lay against the back rest and once again turned her face to the sun.

‘You know what Deels? I have tried so hard to forget about so much of my childhood but I don’t think that I will ever lose the desire to feel the sun on my face.’

Delia felt an answer would be inadequate but she dropped her fingers to the side of her thigh where she had seen Patsy’s lay flush against her own slim limb. She risked pushing her fingers into those of her friend and her breath hitched when Patsy, without looking at their hands, opened her fingers and allowed Delia’s to interlace alongside her own, the backs of their hands resting against one another. Delia felt her stomach turn over entirely when Patsy, eyes still closed and her face remaining upturned, shifted her weight sideways. Their hands were trapped, warm and just interwoven, between their respective legs. Delia too, closed her eyes and wished that she could stay in the moment forever.

Her eyes snapped open at a cry of distress. Her gaze raked the scene in front of her searching for the source of the noise and she felt Patsy sit upright beside her, doing the same. Another cry, even more agonised than the last, came again and Delia traced its origin. In the middle of the lake was a boy, not more than ten, on a make-shift raft which was listing horribly to one side. As Delia leapt to her feet there was an agonising moment as the boy tipped his weight backwards, desperately trying to balance the sinking craft. As if in a pantomime the boy swung his arms in circles, Delia stared, her eyes widening in horror as the small figure gave a third yell. Terror rang cross the lake, the echo tinkling like a strike on a blacksmith’s anvil; as the boy hit the water with an ungainly splash Delia looked round wildly as if expecting to see help already manifesting itself. Several people stood around the body of water staring intently but as the boy thrashed about, a central point of motion and panic, the rest of the world seemed frozen, caught in the winter air.

Delia worked at the buttons of her coat with chilled fingers but within seconds she had divested herself of her thick winter outer, shrugging it off and leaving it behind her on the grass as she walked purposefully towards the water. As she reached the edge she slipped off her shoes and she pushed her fingers inside the waistband of her simple grey skirt, sliding her fingers around until she felt the button, flipping it free of its buttonhole she took the small tongue of the zipper and pinching it firmly she slid it downwards and continued the movement so that she stepped effortlessly from the garment and left that too lying on the grass. All thoughts of modesty long gone she tugged off her underskirt, peeled off her stockings and dressed only in blouse and knickers Delia reached the edge of the icy water. Delia could hear Patsy repeating her name, registered the rising panic in the older woman’s voice, but ignored the pleas. She turned, half a turn, at the very edge where water lapped against the concrete edging.

‘Somebody has to do something Pats.’

And Delia was moving with impressive alacrity. As she waded into the darkness of the boating lake she felt the icy slap against her legs and winced. Duck weed moved unpleasantly against her bare legs, its fronds already impeding her progress. 

‘For goodness sake Delia, come back.’ Patsy’s voice was strident, her pitch significantly higher than usual. She sounded desperate and Delia’s heart ached for the terror she heard in her friend’s voice. ‘Please, Delia. Don’t.’

Delia stilled for a moment. She knew if she looked back and made eye-contact with Patsy her resolve would be broken so she kept her eyes resolutely on the spot where the boy was still thrashing in the water, the peace of the late morning rent apart by his maniacal battering of the lake. She waded on and as the water reached her thighs Delia made the decision that she needed to enter the water completely. She bent her knees and dived into the impenetrable blackness, even at close quarters there was nothing to see under the water’s surface and as her head dipped out of the January air Delia was struck by the lack of visibility. The dark, impermeable, green was her first thought but her mind went blank as the sheer coldness of the water fully assaulted her. She had spent many happy hours in the cold sea as a child but she was unprepared for the aggressive bite of the water at her head. Pain seared from the back of her eyes through her brain, a paralysing throb setting up at the base of her skull.At the same moment Delia’s chest constricted painfully and she blew the air from her nose in a violent expulsion to try and allow some regulation of the pressure in her lungs. She twisted her head to one side and as she raised her right arm from the water she took a lungful of air before striking out with strong, powerful strokes in the direction of the boy and his raft. Within a few seconds, she had created a comfortable rhythm and made smooth progress through the water feeling the synchronisation of arms, legs, lungs as her body became used to the icy temperature.

When she reached the young man she realised his movements had slowed somewhat but he was still attempting to keep himself above the water. He was visibly exhausted and wild panic was evident in his bulging eyes. Delia treaded water for a moment and was taken entirely by surprise when the boy lunged at her, his hands grasping for her shoulders, and plunged her under the water. When they both re-emerged Delia was gasping, blinking the water from her eyes and pedalling her legs furiously to gain equilibrium. When her vision swam back into focus she locked eyes with a pleading, desperate gaze.

‘Listen to me now,’ said Delia, realising as she spoke that her own teeth were beginning to chatter furiously. ‘I am going to turn you around and put my arm over your chest. Try to stay as still as you can ok?’

Without waiting for an answer Delia reached out and with the aid of the weightlessness of water she managed to manoeuvre the young man into a position where he was lying against her left side, her arm securely over his chest. As she began a furious egg beater kick with her legs and pushed the water aside with her remaining free hand she felt the boy go slack in her arms.

‘Come on boyo, don’t you do that now.’ Delia’s heard the fury in her own voice and kicked harder, moving as fast as she could to the shore. She became aware suddenly of other people around her in the water. Two men on either side of her, stood waist deep, gently removing the limp body from her arms, a strong arm around her own waist helping her to the lake edge. She crawled out, the grass coarse and uncomfortable against her palms. She felt violently sick and her vision swam. She tried to move from her position on all fours but her arms collapsed beneath her and she smelt the rich earth as the stubble pushed into her cheek.

‘Come on, love,’ she heard a voice far away say. A man. Who? Her father?

‘Tad?’ she muttered into the grass.

‘Get out of the way, leave her, I’m a nurse.’

Delia heard a clipped, RP voice and she closed her eyes, trying to concentrate on why she felt she knew it so well. Suddenly the voice was much closer and Delia felt lips against her ear.

‘Deels, you’re going to be okay. Jeanie’s called an ambulance.’

‘The boy?’ Delia asked weakly.

‘He’s fine.’ Delia heard the voice say grimly. ‘I think you might be in worse state. I am going to turn you over, ok?’

Delia felt herself being rolled. She felt suddenly very warm, her front exposed to the air and she tried, from her lying position to move her hands to unbutton her blouse.

‘Am hot,’ she slurred, trying to focus on the face hovering above her. She made out blonde hair and smiled, still pulling with futile gestures at the buttons. ‘My fingers don’t work.’

‘Oh no you don’t.’ Patsy took Delia’s hands firmly in her own. She licked her lips and bent low over Delia’s face. ‘Deels you aren’t hot, you’re very cold and wet. I am going to lay your coat over you and keep my hands in your armpits.’

Delia giggled and Patsy rolled her eyes.

‘Just trust me,’ said Patsy softly and Delia felt weight of material on her body and her sodden hair being dragged from where it lay plastered across her cheek. Patsy’s hand stilled, cupping the stricken face of the brunette, a thumb stroking tenderly across the cheek and Delia felt entirely safe all of a sudden. A desire to sleep washed over her as Patsy made true on her promise and tucked her hands under her armpits, dragging Delia onto her bent knees as she did so.

‘Delia? Delia, try to stay awake.’

‘I’m really tired, sweetheart.’ Delia mumbled, pawing aimlessly at the air, trying to make contact with the figure hunched above her.

Patsy stifled a sob, wrenched her hands from Delia’s armpits and enveloped her in a tight embrace. Delia felt her head loll awkwardly against Patsy’s stomach and furrowed her brow to concentrate as Patsy began to speak, words strangulated by grief.

‘Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare leave me when I have only just found you.’

Unconsciousness closed the scene.


	30. Heart, Body, Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The shock of the incident in the park leaves Patsy reeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was never sure exactly how this chapter was going to unfold despite the previous and subsequent ones being really rather clear. I hope that it lives up to some expectations. I have really enjoyed bringing these characters to this point and I hope you will stay with me beyond here.   
> Thank you to all the people who have given kudos and comments - they really do mean a huge amount and I love reading and responding to what people think as much as writing the fic :)

Delia opened her eyes and immediately closed them again. Daylight seared into the back of her retina and an insistent throb began at the base of her skull. She pushed her eyelids tighter shut against the pain. Slowly, she opened one eye tentatively and squinted. Her brain worked hard to place where she was. She recognised the green and cream of every ward and corridor at the London. A combination all pervasive since the start of her training. She was at work. Yet that didn’t seem right either. She recognised too, that she was in a prone position and she tried to push her shoulders upwards and heard air expelled from her own chest in a painful ‘Oooof.’

‘Delia?’ Patsy was perched on a hospital visiting chair, her legs crossed and a book balanced upon the top knee, open like a bird in flight, leaves spread eagled. The chair had been moved close to the bed and Delia found herself peering slightly downwards to register the blonde-haired woman’s presence properly; her headache made its presence known again, pulsing waves each time she moved. Patsy edged forward, placing the book in her lap, reaching her hands across the pale green of the blanket to take one of Delia’s hands carefully.

‘How are you?’ she said, equally as carefully. She did not move her eyes from the spot where her fingers lay over Delia’s own. Delia opened her eyes a little more, fighting the pain, to see that Patsy looked terrible. Her eyes were rimmed with red and the skin below her eyes folded over and over itself in bags that told of utter exhaustion.

‘Pats?’ Delia whispered the name, an interrogative weighted with fear and concern. She had never seen Patsy look so ghastly, so worried.

‘I thought you were going to die.’ Patsy’s voice was as cold as Delia had ever known it and she felt tears start behind her eyes. Blinking them away she tried to make eye contact but still Patsy would not look at her. 

‘Patsy, I.’ Delia began but her false start hung in the air. Her lips remained parted but no further sound came out and she pushed herself an inch backwards into the pillow, retreating from the waves of Patsy’s ire. Patsy finally raised her eyes but did not remove her hand, she looked levelly at Delia.

‘You could have died. It was agony, watching you disappear like that. I was calling you and calling you and you didn’t listen.’ Patsy’s voice cracked. ‘And then you were hauled out and I thought, I thought.’

‘Oh, Patsy,’ said Delia simply. She sat further up on the bed and regretted it as Patsy’s hand fell away from her own. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘No. You did a brave and wonderful thing. And I am proud of you.’ Patsy shot a very thin smile in Delia’s direction. ‘But I am so angry. With you. And with myself.’

Delia felt a little bewildered. She wanted to move to Patsy, to comfort her, but fury rolled off her as a palpable energy and Delia was afraid of being rebuffed. She moved her hand to her head and brought it down over her eyes and finally over her mouth and chin.

‘Is the boy okay?’ asked Delia, quietly, trying to deflect the subject slightly.

‘The last I heard he was doing splendidly. He was suffering from hypothermia too.’ Patsy paused, as if deciding whether to continue. ‘That’s what happens when you swim in boating lakes in January.’

‘I wanted to help. Isn’t that why we’re nursing?’

Patsy gave a very hollow laugh.

‘I think if you asked most of the girls they would say it was to ensnare a nice junior from the London, or at least have a decent wage until the right chap came along.’

‘Is that why you are nursing Patsy?’ asked Delia, her tone more aggressive than she intended.

‘You know it’s not,’ said Patsy simply, her voice quieter now. Delia nodded, knew she had been unfair. A long pause ensued. ‘But that doesn’t mean I have to play the blasted hero.’

‘I just wanted to help,’ repeated Delia. She felt tired. ‘I did what I thought was right. Please. Please, don’t be angry.’

‘I thought you were going to die.’ Patsy’s voice was hoarse and she tipped her head slightly as if trying to dismiss the emotion that came with the confession. ‘I don’t get close to people Delia. Ever since my mother and sister died, I make sure that my heart is closed. I’m too frightened of loss. And that’s why I am cross with myself, because you came along and you found your way in. You made me care. And now I am so frightened of losing you.’

Delia’s stomach turned over.

‘Pats?’ Delia reached out her hand but Patsy shifted her body slightly away from the gesture, shook her head, she raised her right hand to swipe at tears that Delia could not see but could sense entirely. Stood at the very end of the bed, Patsy turned back towards the figure who looked so small and vulnerable amongst the pillows and blankets. She gripped the metal of the bedstead for a moment with the hand that wasn't clutching the book before she spoke, her voice no longer sharp but almost a whisper.

‘I told you, Delia, I told you to keep warm.’

Delia felt the tears roll hot and unbidden from her eyes and any attempt at formulating words was lodged firmly behind a significant, immovable lump in her throat. She tilted her head and her eyes pleaded with Patsy but she was gazing at a retreating back. Patsy was stalking towards the ward doors. She did not look back.

When Delia returned to the nurses’ home in the early evening, having been discharged with a warning to avoid taking winter ice baths from a sardonic doctor she sincerely hoped that she would not end up working alongside, she felt a gnawing sense of isolation. As she pushed at the door to her room the oppressive gloaming that met her did nothing to lift her spirits and she sighed heavily.

‘Hello old thing.’

Delia’s heart hammered wildly in her chest, beating an irregular, panicked rhythm as the words rang out in the darkened room. Her eyes snapped to the bed from where the voice emanated. Patsy was sitting on the edge of the bed, her figure blurred into a hazy silhouette in the dark and light of the January afternoon fading rapidly outside.

‘Oh, Pats.’ Delia stammered slightly, attempted to regain her equilibrium. She shrugged off her coat and hung it by the shoulders over the back of the high-backed chair. Pausing a moment to wonder if she should sit in it before she turned and made her way to the bedside table.

‘Can I put the light on?’ she asked. Patsy nodded, watched as Delia bent and pushed the switch through and blinked as the circle of light hit the ceiling and washed over the bed. Delia felt Patsy’s eyes still on her as she moved to the curtains and pulled them, shutting out the cold of the winter’s night now fallen, still and silent beyond the glass. She turned slowly back to face the room.

‘I wanted to wait. I wanted to be here when you got back.’ Patsy’s long, slim back was still facing Delia but even without seeing her face the uncertain tremor was unmistakable to the shorter woman. ‘Delia, I am so sorry.’

Delia clenched her fist, pushed the fleshy forefinger into lips to stop a sob emerging. She exhaled heavily and moved rapidly to sit beside Patsy on the bed.

‘I am sorry too,’ Delia said earnestly. ‘I didn’t think. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ignore you. As long as I know my own name what you think and do will matter to me.’

‘I was horribly brusque at the hospital. Forgive me?’ Patsy raised her eyes, searching for Delia’s and reached out her hand, sliding her palm under the hand that lay on Delia’s lap. Delia dropped her eyes and watched as Patsy’s long fingers bent and curved, the thumb coming to rest between Delia’s own thumb and forefinger, allowing Delia the space to push her thumb against the heel of Patsy’s hand and gently stroke it. Delia heard Patsy’s breath hitch and felt her own pulse quicken slightly at the sound.

‘What is it you want?’ continued Delia quietly. She shifted slightly on the bed, closing the gap between them even further. The intensity of the moment, the physical proximity and a desperate terror about being rejected gripped Delia’s heart like a docker’s claw. She tilted her head. ‘Because, Patsy, I am willing to give you everything. Heart. Body. Soul.’

It took every fibre of Delia’s internal spirit to move her eyes, to look into Patsy’s face, to attempt to read the expression there. When she didn’t speak, Delia felt the crushing blow of rebuff, shame and fear batter her like a blast of ocean storm gale, her head whirling with the enormous ramifications of what she had just done. Delia tried to extricate herself from her propinquity to Patsy, pushing at her body to move her away. But Patsy had moved more quickly, Delia felt the fingers of Patsy’s other hand curve around her left cheek and gentle pressure exerted so that her face was levered towards Patsy’s. Delia saw her lick her lips and the sight made her chest contract. She sought Patsy’s eyes and flicked her gaze to the full lips. Delia felt a thumb stroking the side of her face and found herself closer to Patsy than she had ever been to anybody in her life. Patsy’s lips were less than an inch from her own when Delia heard the familiar voice emerge in a murmur.

‘You, Deels, I want you.’

There was no time to respond before Delia felt Patsy’s lips press against her own. Nothing could have prepared her for the warmth and energy that surged through her like a riptide. The kiss was brief, tentative, and Patsy pulled back, breaking the contact; Delia found herself acting on pure instinct, moving her right hand up to the nape of Patsy’s neck and seeking Patsy’s lips again, her eyes closing unconsciously, letting every other sense take over. Feeling Delia move into her elicited a moan from Patsy that sent a shudder of desire through Delia’s core; a coil of visceral want unlike anything she had ever felt before tightening somewhere so unfathomable inside her it was almost painful. She deepened the kiss and lost all sense of time or place. When Patsy eventually pulled back and rested her nose alongside Delia’s the brunette felt a huge smile spread across her own face and she exhaled heavily. She pulled back slightly to look at Patsy and saw the small, familiar fish hook smile as Patsy spoke.

‘I have wanted to do that for such a long time.’


	31. Nothing to Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patsy and Delia must return to work but everything is distinctly lighter now they have one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This almost feels like the start of part two. Thank you so much for all the kind comments about our pair finally managing to do something about their feelings.  
> I have lots more plans but for now I wanted to just indulge in what is mainly fluff for a little while.

 

Delia woke to an unfamiliar sound. She stretched and blinked her eyes awake, it was still pitch dark. Unbidden, a grin crept across her face as the memory of the previous night played in her mind like a Saturday matinee, but she was forced from her happy reverie by a repeat of the noise that had woken her. Her brain registered what the sound was. She glanced at the clock, the tips of the hands glowing in the darkness. Quarter to six. Who was knocking at the door at quarter to six in the morning. With a great force of will she pushed back the bed clothes, the bite of the chilly morning goosepimpling her skin, and moved to the source of the noise.

‘Hello?’ said Delia through the wooden barrier, her voice felt unnaturally loud in the silence of the dark January morning.

‘Deels, its me.’ Patsy sounded vaguely irritated by the delay and Delia hurriedly opened the door, blinking against the electric light from the corridor. Patsy slipped inside and pushed the wood into the frame. ‘Honestly Deels, who did you think it was? Or do you often have women creeping into your room at unearthly hours?’

Delia laughed and heard Patsy’s low throaty chuckle join her own giggle. The room was still full of shadow and Delia made her way by instinct to the bedside table and pushed the switch that flooded the room with a pale light. She stood up straight and faced Patsy who still stood near the door, a smile still playing on her lips. Delia shivered.

‘Back in bed, Busby,’ ordered Patsy, advancing to where Delia stood barefoot and in her pyjamas. ‘I just wanted to see you before we start our shifts and it struck me that you might not even know where you are going. The lists went up Saturday night and you were malingering next door.’

Delia had sat and pushed her feet back down under the quilt whilst Patsy had taken a seat on the edge of the bed and now received a sharp slap to the bare arm, just below where the monstrous sleeves of the lilac uniform, clearly recently pressed and starched, ended. Patsy widened her eyes in mock hurt and Delia laughed again.

‘Can I kiss you before you tell me?’ asked Delia; she had hoped her request would sound flirtatious but as it emerged she realised she heard the words hang, quiet and somewhat vulnerably, in the chilly air. A moment of doubt gripped her but bled away as Patsy took her hand and leaned in.

‘One was rather hoping you might say that,’ she smiled, leaning her forehead against Delia’s own and allowing the smaller woman to brush her lips softly against first her cheek and then her own full red lips. When she pulled back Delia smiled contentedly and settled herself against the headboard.

‘So, Nurse Mount, what’s in store for me in the next 8 weeks? Aside from early morning wake up calls?’

‘You’re on orthopaedics and I have the delight of new born babies!’ Patsy smiled back. ‘I’m rather pleased but I thought you would be relieved it wasn’t the other way around!’

‘I’m sure it’s very rewarding, I just can’t quite get past Mr Slade’s lectures. And I hope there might be slightly fewer vomiters and other bodily fluid excretions on orthopaedics.’

Patsy laughed again. She raised her hand and brushed Delia’s fringe to the side, moving her fingers along the hairline until she reached the dark locks that framed the brunette’s face. Delia raised her own hand and pressed Patsy’s palm into her cheek.

‘I can’t believe we’re really here, like this, I feel like it’s all a dream.’ Delia looked intently into Patsy’s eyes and the warmth and affection there flipped her stomach. She swallowed thickly and dropped her eyes, drawing her senses together in the feel of the other woman’s skin against her own. Smooth, gentle and warm.

‘I’m the same,’ said Patsy quietly, drawing a thumb gently across the other woman’s cheek. ‘But we need to be careful. You can’t go around looking at me like that!’

‘Like what?’ asked Delia, looking up again and deliberately darkening her gaze, emboldened by the earlier kiss but betraying the playful nature of the gesture by allowing a grin to creep across her face. Patsy withdrew her hand and clasped it with the other in her lap.

‘Delia Busby! I’m being serious. I have found it hard enough these last few months wondering if you felt what I felt, hoping that you did and being entirely unable to stand being around you without wanting tell you. Now I know that you do it’s even more important nobody finds out that we are. Well. What we are.’

‘Happy?’ asked Delia softly. Patsy looked at Delia’s earnest face and smiled sadly.

‘You know that is not how other people would see this.’

‘I’m not sure I care. I feel like I have the world now I have you,’ declared Delia fiercely. She sighed heavily on seeing Patsy’s stricken face. ‘I know you are right. I want to nurse and I certainly don’t want to lose my place at the London.’

‘Remember the first day?’ asked Patsy. ‘No dark secrets girls. I think this counts.’

‘It doesn’t feel dark. I feel like my whole world is lit by an amazing, fresh new light. By you.’

Patsy’s cheek quirked into its familiar lopsided smile.

‘That’s rather what I mean. I am worried it is going to shine out of you.’

‘You can trust me Pats.’ Delia was earnest and dipped her head so that she could more easily make eye contact with the woman perched next to her. ‘I wouldn’t do anything to put us at risk.’

‘I know. It’s just imperative that nobody must even suspect,’ said Patsy, meeting Delia’s gaze with open, clear blue eyes and sending a surge of affection through the smaller woman. Delia leant forward and squeezed the hands that lay in Patsy’s lap but as she did so a pang of anxiety hit her in the chest and her heart constricted. Virginia. Virginia suspected. Delia looked at her fingers, watched as Patsy looped her own underneath her palm and raised them to her lips. Delia closed her eyes at the action, savoured the warm, damp press against the back of her hand and decided in that instant that there was nothing to fear. She watched as Patsy stood, looked down at the bed and grinned.

‘Have a wonderful day with your bones.’

Delia grinned back, her pulse quickening slightly at the easy warmth between the two of them, the affectionate familiarity that had happily settled between them but now meant so much more.

‘You too sweetheart; enjoy all the babies. I will see you at this evening’s meeting.’

‘Don’t remind me,’ groaned Patsy. ‘I have not one iota of an idea what I shall do.’

‘I’m sure you will think of something.’ Delia smiled at Patsy’s despairing face.  

As Patsy left the room quietly closing the door behind her Delia pushed her head back into the pillow and grinned at the ceiling once again and ignored the tap of anxiety that had taken up residence in the back of her brain. Deliberately pushing it away she allowed a flood of pleasure, excitement and relief to seep into every muscle and sinew. She had never felt contentment as she had in that moment and the pleasure was like the warmth of the height of summer, cutting through the chill of the dark January morning until Delia barely noticed her breath condensing in the shadows.

The first shift passed in a blur of new information and routines and expectations. Delia was delighted to note that the matron on her first shift, tall, well-built and with a RP accent Delia found difficult to decipher at times, was far more kindly and well-disposed towards the students than the over bearing matriarchs from male surgical. Despite the tiredness that crept over her in the mid-afternoon Delia spent the day feeling elated. Happy in her work and in the frequent trips to dispose of old bandages and dressings she allowed her mind to drift to thoughts of the elegant blonde working somewhere else in the building.  Thinking of Patsy she mused on whether she was being thought of herself; she felt intuitively that there was a cord of feeling now tying her to Patsy, endless threads entwined together of experiences and feelings shared and yet to come. The thought thrilled her.

After a noisy communal meal where the girls excitedly swapped stories of their first day back on the wards the chattering throng moved to one of the smaller lecture theatres which Delia recognised as the room in which she had first set eyes on Patsy and indeed the rest of their set. How far, and in so many different ways, she had come in those short months. Delia scanned the room automatically searching for the blonde hair, always a visible a few inches above the crowns of everybody else in a crowd and felt her heart thud as her gaze fell, and rested on, Patsy already sat facing the table where Matron was tapping papers together at the very front of the hall. The seats around her were filled and mindful of their dawn conversation Delia slipped into a chair a few rows further back and fought an urge to simply gaze at the stretch and curve of Patsy’s neck as it rose from the starched collar of her uniform. Despite resolutely focussing on Matron as she began talking Delia’s mind drifted inexorably to the woman sat only a few feet away; for Delia there was nobody else present and her imagination was running to her lips brushing over the thin, exposed skin where the hair was pulled taught up into the effortlessly chic, piled-up style Patsy so often favoured.

‘What are you planning on doing?’ said a voice next to Delia and sending a wave of red hot shame straight to her cheeks. The small brunette fought to regain her composure as she realised that Matron has stopped talking and the trainees were starting to shift and move from the rows of hard, wooden chairs. The voice ploughed on, apparently oblivious to Delia’s struggle to keep her emotions in check. ‘I didn’t actually realise we were going to have to volunteer as well as our shifts, it really isn’t quite the experience I anticipated.’

‘No, Hattie, me neither. Though I think always knew that I would volunteer for St John Ambulance – my mam wanted to be a driver during the war but there wasn’t much call for her services in deepest Wales. I think Hitler must have known what she was like!’

Hattie gave a snort of laughter, garnering a sharp look from Matron and Delia saw Patsy glance over and start, as if to move to join her but immediately get waylaid by Jeanie who was steering her towards one of the Home Matrons stood at the edge of the room brandishing clip boards and barking orders to queue. Delia gave a slight huff and made her own way to the right queue where she gave her name and was handed a slip of paper instructing her when and from where she should collect her uniform.

‘I expect you will look rather lovely as an ambulance driver,’ murmured Patsy in a low voice as she sat propped up against Delia’s pillows an hour later listening to Delia complain that grey really wasn’t her colour. Delia lay against Patsy’s chest, her arm draped over the smooth middle of the tall woman’s beltless lilac dress. She raised her head so that she could meet Patsy’s eyes briefly.

‘Charmer,’ she laughed and was rewarded with a kiss on the forehead before she settled back down, smiling into the empty room. ‘So, come on then, what are you doing?’

‘Promise you won’t laugh?’ said Patsy, her voice suddenly small. Delia nestled further into the warmth of Patsy’s body and, spreading her fingers wide, she pressed her hand into Patsy’s side just above the hip and pulled her in closer.

‘You can tell me anything.’

‘I’m helping the ladies who arrange the flowers in the hospital chapel and some of the communal areas around the London. I have always had something of a passion for working with flowers. I sometimes think that if it hadn’t been for the war and all the ghastly things that brought with it I might have ended up taking a different path to nursing.’

Delia propped herself up once more, resting her weight on an arm bent at the elbow and shuffling her weight so that she could sit up properly and bring her gaze level with Patsy’s own. She saw the unshed tears and gave a rather sad smile as Patsy gave a brief, dazzling grin as if to dispel the grief that threatened to spill over.

Delia leant in to move her lips against Patsy’s, her heart racing slightly as she saw and felt Patsy move instinctively towards her, her eyes close unconsciously just a moment before Delia pressed her own lids together and allowed all the sensation in the moment to be about the movement of her mouth against Patsy’s. When she pulled back Patsy’s smile was warm, almost shy and Delia’s voice was quiet but firm.

‘I for one, am very glad you didn’t.’


	32. Echoes of Always

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delia wants to spend some quality time with Patsy before work means they are kept apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This really is pure unadulterated fluff and I know it isn't my strong suite but I wanted to give them some happiness before the main thrust of the plot continues. If you have been following this from the start you will also know how keen I am to weave little bits of what we see on screen into this narrative - and here I go again! 
> 
> Apologies for the long delay in updated. I started a new job and let's just say the hours don't allow much time for anything else!

Glancing at her wrist watch Delia fought the rising tide of emotion that she felt. She mused on what it was as she leaned against the wall where the stubs of railings, long since removed, poked from the large topping slab.. Whenever she thought about Patsy a nervous excitement danced inside of her; the mere thought of being in her presence made her stomach contract in pleasure and any physical proximity only served to heighten the sensation. Yet anxiety and vulnerability fought for recognition within her too. Patsy was so often on edge, frightened of discovery, wary of her own emotions and her insecurity had an effect on Delia, an effect she strove to keep hidden from the older woman. In frustration Delia bounced against the hard surface behind her, pushing her hips backwards and closing her eyes for a moment. She sensed rather than saw a figure at her side.

‘Hello, Deels.’ The voice was low and intimate and the shorter nurse felt the warmth of a body pressed briefly against her arm. The closeness sent a wave of pleasure through Delia and a wide grin spread across her face. She resisted the temptation to slip her arm around Patsy’s middle.

‘I thought you had stood me up Nurse Mount,’ said Delia, playfully.

‘Sorry old thing, these babies are terribly unreliable with regard to their timing. They simply pay no heed to shift patterns whatsoever.’ Patsy’s face was a model of contrition, eyebrows cocked and a nervous bite on her lower lip that Delia found more alluring than she felt she ought.

‘Are you sure you still want to go out?’ Delia cringed inwardly as she heard the catch in her voice. She glanced downwards, fixed her gaze on the two pairs of low heeled court shoes mirroring each other on the pavement.

‘Always,’ said Patsy quietly. ‘Even after a night of amniotic fluid I am all yours.’

‘You old romantic Patience.’ Delia smiled and pushed her hands into her coat to quell her desire to touch the tall blond. She focused on the rasp of her fingertips against the coarse  woollen seams inside the depths of her pockets to distract herself and raised her eyes allowing her dimples to show.  Letting her gaze range briefly over the taller figure before her Delia’s smile broadened and Patsy smiled back as she continued. ‘I’m glad to see you remembered to take some civvies to change into.’

‘Your wish is my command,’ said Patsy, holding Delia’s gaze, her own dimples deepening. Delia felt her stomach drop in response.

‘If you are trying to get me flustered Pats, it’s working,’ Delia chastised, but her spirited tone belied her real feelings. All sense of anxiety melted away now she had Patsy with her and so obviously happy to be there, Delia risked a raise of the eyebrows. She pursed her lips together in amusement as she saw Patsy swallow thickly in response. 

‘So where are we going?’ asked Patsy breezily, attempting to change the subject and earning a knowing smile in response. Delia decided to respond conservatively to the question, shifting the tenor of the conversation in a way that left her feeling strangely bereft.

‘Nothing very exciting, but I wanted to treat you to a morning together before our shifts change next week and we just wont see each other,’ said Delia mournfully.

‘I had noticed. It did feel somewhat like the fates were conspiring against us,’ responded Patsy, sadly, before adding, ‘Though if it means you take me out I won’t complain too vociferously!’

Delia raised her eyes heavenwards and began walking away from the front entrance to the London, with Patsy in close pursuit. Delia wished fervently that Patsy would lose her inhibition for a moment, that she would slip a warm arm into the crook of her own. It was a gesture casually employed by most of the girls in their set who had fallen into natural friendship pairings but even as Delia silently prayed for it to happen she knew that any outward sign of physical affection was beyond the statuesque figure who had now fallen into comfortable step beside her.

‘Before we head to Bruce’s can we stop by Hannaford’s?’ asked Delia, glancing up at Patsy as they threaded their way amongst the early morning bustle of men heading to work, the pair occasionally smiling in response to the genial tip of a hat or a cheery ‘Good Morning.’

‘The photography place?’ responded Patsy, a note of surprise evident. Delia allowed herself a little smile.

‘Matron has tasked me with picking up the photographs to be used for the identification sheets for our volunteer work.’

‘You really are the teacher’s pet, aren’t you Busby?’ said Patsy lightly, pushing her upperarm against Delia’s shoulder to reinforce her mockery. Delia laughed, enjoying the moment.

‘Matron’s pet, Mount, Matron’s pet.’

Sat in a corner of the Italian coffee house that the pair now considered theirs, Delia placed down her tea cup and shook her head.

‘Go on. Only a little peek.’ Patsy’s tone was low, husky and playful and she lent slightly across the table. Patsy raised her eyebrows and her right lip quirked up in her idiosyncratic smile making Delia drop her eyes in an attempt quell the wash of desire that swamped her at the sight. She ran her fingers over the edges of the large manila envelope, her neat nails tapping lightly against the table top as she pushed under the top and let it rest on the upturned pads of her finger tips as if she was almost afraid to grip the offending item.

‘I can’t believe you are even suggesting it,’ said Delia, the affront in her tone so exaggerated that Patsy laughed aloud, making Delia’s attempt to be stern disappear into a deep, dimpled grin. There was a lengthy pause as the two women found themselves looking deeply into the eyes of the other, enjoying the reflected warmth and affection there. Delia shook her head slightly. ‘I suppose we could tell Matron the developer insisted on showing us his work.’

‘Absolutely,’ said Patsy, warmly.

Delia slid her thumb under the sealed flap and tore open a ragged vein down the envelope before she tipped the contents onto the table top before her and the two women spent a happy ten minutes appraising the various poses of their classmates; some eliciting giggles, some praise.

‘Well I am letting that find the waste paper basket before it finds Matron,’ said Delia firmly, looking down at a black and white print of herself in her St John’s uniform, the Maltese Cross on her chest dominating the picture, her face largely unsmiling but giving the lie to any seriousness with a slight upturn of her lips and the merest ghost of a dimple. ‘What am I looking at for heaven’s sake?’

‘Oh Deels, I think you look lovely, I rather like that you aren’t looking at the camera,’ said Patsy craning her neck to view the picture, albeit upsidedown. ‘Let me see properly?’

Delia gave a small huff and handed the small, white edged print across the table where Patsy took it and looked down, her attention rapt. Delia watched her carefully for a moment before picking up the next picture and declaring it, with palpable relief, far more suitable.

‘May I keep this?’ asked Patsy, quietly. Her voice became earnest with reassurance, more shy and uncertain as she went on. ‘I won’t show it to anybody. I intend to sellotape it into the back of my favourite book.’

‘I’m not sure it is me at my best Pats.’ Delia smiled across the table at the older woman’s reverent movements as she ran a finger down the side of the photograph as if it was made flesh before her. ‘But if you want a reminder of me in a silly outfit gazing into the middle distance then you are most welcome.’

‘I would just like a little something of you with me, always.’ Patsy looked up and met Delia’s eyes. She glanced around the café, affirming that they were entirely unobserved and nobody could hear. ‘If we are ever apart I would like to look at this and remember; remember how beautiful you are and that we had this life together.’

Delia found a lump of emotion balling in her throat and she forced a tight smile.

‘Let’s just make sure you don’t have to look at a picture, let’s just make sure we are together.’ Delia swallowed and avoiding Patsy’s eyes, looking at the long elegant fingers holding her picture, she echoed Patsy’s words. ‘Always.’


	33. Knowing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patsy wants to spend time with Delia, who has a few awkward questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can only apologise for the delay; this new job is leech like. I still have lots of ideas for DWF. We are not even at the main event yet! Thank you for those of you who have stayed with it! The kudos and the comments are really welcome. I love hearing what people think. We are moving inexorably to the next stage in their lives now - any thoughts welcome before I launch them on their trajectory!

****

Dark hair spilled over the pillow; little of Delia was visible as she wriggled further under the bedclothes to escape the remains of the winter sunlight fading rapidly in the room. Eyes still closed she tugged blindly at her sleeves, pulling them down to try and retain the warmth inside her flannel pyjamas. She knew she should check the time but as her alarm had not yet signalled the arrival of five o’clock she resisted poking her head above the top sheet.

‘Deels? Delia?’ Patsy’s voice was quiet but insistent and Delia immediately popped her head above the bedding, her eyelids were heavy with sleep and the coarse sheets had etched a deep red ridge into her right cheek.

‘Pats? Is everything okay?’ Delia squinted against the dull light to make out Patsy stood against the back of the door, tall and elegant in her purple uniform, her blonde hair in a tight bun and a large woollen coat draped over her forearm. Delia pulled a hand from under the bedclothes and ran it over her eyes to dislodge sleep from her eyes.  ‘You look tired, love.’

‘I am rather, but I wanted to chance seeing you before I went to bed and you left for your shift,’ said Patsy, smiling at Delia’s sleepy drawl and then broader as Delia moved her hand from beside her eyes and snaked her fingers around the corner of the sheet covering the quilt. Patsy watched, transfixed as Delia closed her hand around the bedclothes, before drawing them back.

‘Come and get in for a moment then.’ Delia mumbled, still foggy from her daytime slumber.

Patsy shot a glance at the door, her eyebrows knitting for a moment, and then looked towards the bed.

‘Hurry up Patsy, it’s freezing.’  Patsy hesitated again, chewing her lip and throwing another concerned glance at the blank door panel. ‘Push the chair up.’

‘What?’ asked Patsy, her eyes still averted from the bed, her body still and alert like a predatory animal, shoulders pushed back, neck elongated and eyes flitting from the door to the piece of furniture in Delia’s suggestion.

‘Push the chair against the door and then come and warm up.’ Delia’s voice was low, persuasive. ‘Nobody will come in Pats, and if they try they wont be able to get past the chair.’

‘Won’t it appear terribly suspicious?’ asked Patsy, chewing her lip. Delia gave a short laugh.

‘Come here, before you have to explain why my frozen body has been discovered.’

Patsy released an involuntary giggle and laid the coat over the chair gingerly as if it were a sleeping child before seizing the top of the high back belonging to the chair and nudging it along the carpet by a slow, walking shuffle between hands and knee. When the furthest edge was resting against the crack where door met jamb she stood back and gave a satisfied smile.

‘There.’

‘Pats, do hurry up. I have to get out of this bed in thirty minutes and I’d like to spend some time with you in it.’

Delia smiled as she saw a crimson glow creep along Patsy’s jaw and into her face. There was a momentary inelegance in Patsy as she bent and grappled with the heels of her shoes before stepping out of them, striding towards the bed and sliding in beside Delia who manoeuvred to allow her to lie down, before reaching around and closing the quilt over Patsy’s back. With a deft movement Delia brought her hand back inside the bed clothes and slipped it under Patsy’s arm to rest a warm palm against a cool, smooth back. Patsy’s face split into a broad, relaxed grin.

‘Well this is a splendid end to my day.’

‘It’s a nice start to mine too,’ said Delia with a shy smile at Patsy’s warm enthusiasm. Emboldened, the smaller woman bent her elbow, pulling the taller nurse to her and dipping her head until she found soft lips. As she deepened the kiss Patsy reached over and spread her fingers against Delia’s back under the flannel of her pyjamas. At the feeling of her clothes being lifted Delia felt her skin prickle in agonising anticipation and she heard a small moan escape her into Patsy’s mouth, spurring Patsy on yet further. The second Patsy’s fingertips met with her skin however Delia snapped her head back and a horrified yowl rang out in the almost dark room.

‘Your hands are bloody freezing Patsy,’ she said crossly, looking at the amused expression only inches from her own face.

‘Sorry old thing, it is the middle of winter,’ murmured Patsy apologetically through a half smile. She carefully placed her hand on the outside of Delia’s nightclothes before leaning in and pressing her lips briefly against Delia’s and pulling the shorter woman in towards her chest where Delia found a comfortable resting place, tucking her head under Patsy’s chin. As she reached over Patsy she smiled, feeling a long limb worm its way around her back so the two were wrapped in one another’s arms.

‘I really don’t want to go to work now,’ said Delia with a soft sigh. ‘How was your day?’

‘Super, all in all.’ Patsy’s voice was warm with enthusiasm. ‘Lots of cheap flowers needing to be liberated from awkward fathers. All rather sweet. And mothers really are the most incredible creatures.’

Delia didn’t answer. Her heart clenched in sudden anxiety. In her happier moments Delia had no doubts about her burgeoning relationship with Patsy, her most content moment were spent laughing, talking or studying with the blonde. Yet darker thoughts crept in; of inadequacy, of being discovered, of her luck simply running out. There was no doubt that no matter how much she craved to be with Patsy the latter could never be a mother whilst their connection continued, no more than she could be. The silence froze in the chilled room, words formed but stilled in the back of Delia’s throat and her tongue, clumsy and thick pressed against the roof of her mouth as if lodged in aspic.

‘Pats?’ whispered Delia, her lips brushing against the stiff cotton of the purple passion.

‘Hmmmm?’ hummed Patsy in response, enjoying the physical closeness the opposing shifts had rather unexpectedly afforded them.

‘When did you know that you were.’ Delia stopped abruptly, unsure what adjective could fill the gaping hole she had just rent in the room. She felt Patsy stiffen under her, the fingers on her back lessened their pressure.

‘What?’ asked Patsy, uncertainly.

‘Different?’ offered Delia, anxiety now clawing at her chest like a bird of prey, every sinew taut with fear as she felt Patsy edge away from her.

‘What do you mean?’ Patsy’s voice was clipped, irritated.

‘I mean,’ Delia sighed, in grief and frustration at having brought up the subject. ‘That we’re different, aren’t we? The way we feel. We’re not like those women in the hospital. I just wondered when you first realised.’

‘I don’t consider myself to be “different” actually,’ snapped Patsy, emphasising the echo of Delia’s words with a sneer. ‘I am simply myself.’

Delia recoiled under the force of Patsy’s words and noticed that there were now inches between them in the confines of the narrow bed, which might have been full fathoms. She raised her head and looked across at Patsy whose face was set, jaw tense and her lower incisor working frantically against her closed lips.

‘Yes,’ said Delia, reaching up and daring to cup Patsy’s jaw with her hand, stilling her nervous chewing. ‘You are. Just you.’

Moving her thumb softly against the fair down of Patsy’s cheek Delia smiled, edgy and unsure, and felt tears of relief sting the back of her eyes when Patsy smiled back. In the pit of Delia’s stomach eels twisted into a knot of briny fear, stilling a little as Patsy leant forward and rubbed a cold nose against her own before pulling back.

Delia felt rather than saw Patsy swallow, the older woman’s eyes boring into her own before she dropped her gaze and stared at the point where the top sheet met the quilt.

‘I meant what I said the first time I kissed you.’ Patsy’s voice was low and earnest. She raised her eyes again and looked fully at Delia. ‘I want you. Only you. Nothing else.’

Patsy spanned the gap between them by dipping her head and Delia felt lips close on her own again and her body react instinctively. She quietened her mind by focussing on the kiss; in the warmth and intensity, the feelings of that moment, the clamour of fear was silenced for the time being and after they moved apart Delia lay contentedly in Patsy’s arms until the obnoxious clarion call of the alarm clock pierced their quiet reverie.  

 


	34. A Waning Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the end of long shift but Patsy's been missing Delia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies once again for the delay. It's taken quite a lot of thought to get these two to where they need to be for the next stage of the story. I can't quite credit how many people continue to be interested in historical pretend nurses but I absolutely appreciate it!

It was almost ten. The winter moon, almost full but beginning to wane, hung so low it skimmed the roof tops of Whitechapel beyond the sloping tiles of the London Hospital. The disc was paper white, edges blurred by its own luminescence and the dull shadows of the surface looked like long erased pencil shading. The sight was so arresting that Delia stilled in her passage back to the nurses’ home; she stood, stock still, believing herself entirely alone, her neck craned towards the sky. The night was a strange purple-blue hue and Delia was transported for a moment back to Wales and nights lying on her back trying to train her eyes on the ill-focussed boundaries of the seeping streak of the Milky Way. She hadn’t seen anything like the endless Pembrokeshire sky since she had moved to London and a sharp pang of absence jolted somewhere in her core sending a lump of emotion to her throat. She swallowed.

Straightening her shoulders and mindlessly checking the buttons on the large wool coat over her uniform she kept her head tilted upwards and watched a lone ribbon of cloud scudding towards the creamy face of the moon momentarily shifting the light to a darker indigo glow. She flexed a little, feeling the ache of a long shift set up its nag between her shoulders, and reluctantly made across the quad towards the swing doors that led to the back entrance of the utilitarian accommodation.

Leaning against one of the few trees in the large garden area criss-crossed with paths between various hospital entrances, was a tall figure, the tell-tale glow of a lit cigarette moving with practiced ease in the shadows. Even with the striking, unearthly moonlight it was too dark to distinguish features but Delia knew instinctively who it was and diverted her feet towards the silhouette. 

‘Hallo old thing,’ said Patsy softly, her voice low and deep in the night air. Delia’s face split into an unseen grin, her stomach dropping for the second time in as many minutes as she moved closer and allowed her eyes to adjust to the darkness until she could make out the lines and shapes of the familiar face.

‘I didn’t realise there was anybody here. Aren’t you cold Pats?’ asked Delia in concern, reaching for the gloveless hand that wasn’t pinching a cigarette between fore and middle finger whilst thumb tip and ring finger tapped absently against one another. Stepping even closer to Patsy so that the front of each woman’s coat brushed against the other, Delia raised the limp fingers in her leather clad hand and pressed it against her own cheek. She heard Patsy exhale her lungful of smoke after a hitched breath and rolled her neck so that her lips brushed gently against the edge of a chilled palm. Instinctively her eyes closed but she felt the hand removed, the spell broken.

‘Delia.’ The voice was hesitant but not unkind. ‘Not here.’

Delia bit her lip. She knew that Patsy was quite right but the slap of rejection stung nonetheless and she rebuked herself silently for how sensitive she felt.

‘Why are you out here?’ asked Delia, simply, trying to shift the tenor of the conversation.

‘The lure of a cigarette was simply too much,’ said Patsy brightly.

‘You know you can smoke in the warmth?’ said Delia with a short laugh. Patsy paused before she spoke, still lightly but the pitch lower, the volume quieter.

‘And one never knows with whom one might share a late night rendezvous.’

Delia giggled and moved so that she was stood alongside the taller woman, glancing up to see a broad smile.

‘You have a lovely smile Patsy.’ The words were out before Delia realised she had said them aloud and she gave a second, rather embarrassed, giggle. Patsy flicked the remnants of the cigarette to the ground and as she twisted the ball of her foot and the gravel ground against her shoe she leant closer until her lips were next to Delia’s ear. The brunette gave a shudder of pleasure.

‘Not as lovely as yours. You looked beautiful stood looking at the sky.’

Delia felt her chest thump and she swallowed thickly. Patsy stood upright again, her straight back against the lamppost and her own eyes flickered heavenwards.

‘What were you thinking about?’

‘Sorry?’ said Delia, distracted by the urge to grasp Patsy’s face and pour her disordered thoughts into a kiss that would show what her words had done.

‘When you stopped? You looked up as if there was something on your mind.’ Patsy shivered as she spoke and Delia turned to face her more fully, instead of standing shoulder to shoulder.

‘Come on Pats, we need to get you inside before you catch your death.’

‘Deels?’ said Patsy, quietly, an edge of quiet warning in her tone. Delia exhaled carefully and pressed a gloved forefinger to her lips before speaking, keeping her tone as even as possible.

‘It was nothing really, I was thinking of home. Wales I mean. I hope, one day, in the future, I can take you there. The sky is so clear. You would love it.’ Delia heard her accent thicken unconsciously as her thoughts returned to her homeland and cringed inwardly. She looked up at Patsy in the shadows, the strange ethereal light catching the gilt tones of her hair resting softly around her shoulders, saw the ghost of a half smile and smiled more easily herself. ‘Now let’s get you upstairs, unless you are anticipating any further rendezvous?’

‘No, quite content with this one, this evening at any rate,’ said Patsy, following Delia as she made off in the direction of the nurses’ home. ‘And it’s almost curfew.’

‘Fool,’ muttered Delia, laughing, as she held open the door and Patsy glided past, nodding her thanks with a smile and blinking against the glare of the electric light after the soft glow of the garden. Delia physically started as a door crashed open to her right.

‘Come on girls. I’m surprised you weren’t back some considerable time ago Nurse Busby. You’re lucky that this door can sometimes get left open. What on earth have you been finding to do?’ Matron’s voice rang out, uncomfortably loud in the confined space of the corridor and the large set of keys in her hands rattled noisily like a medieval gaoler’s belt. Delia felt a blush creep from her collar and burn in her cheeks, she was deeply grateful for Patsy’s quick reply, unsure of the steadiness of her own voice.

‘Sorry Matron, I was having a last cigarette in the fresh air and I saw Nurse Busby at the end of her shift. It was my fault she was detained.’

Matron tutted and shoed them towards the dimly lit stairwell that provided a back way to the nurses’ bedrooms. Wishing Patsy a hurried goodnight over her shoulder Delia broke into trot in her haste to escape the senior nurse’s disapproving glare; relief eased out of her as she sighed, moved her gloved fingers against the light switch and shrugged off her coat on reaching the safety of her room. She threw the coat against the high-backed chair that sat, ugly and ill-proportioned, near the room entrance, began peeling off the gloves and was delightedly surprised when Patsy slipped inside and clicked the door into its frame, resting her shoulder blades against the cheap wood.

‘Pats, what are you doing?’ hissed Delia, her voice a pantomime whisper but a smile forming on her lips. 

‘Come over here,’ said Patsy. Delia’s eyebrows shot up at the tone, which brooked no refusal. She began to walk back towards the door, Patsy slipped off her coat and tossed it on top of Delia’s own. The careless action made Delia’s eyebrows rise in yet further question. She stood a few inches from where Patsy looked down at her, the taller woman glanced behind her as if the blank wood was watching before she reached out. She placed her left hand inside Delia’s and using her right hand she raised their fingers until her palm rested against Delia’s cheek and under the brunette’s fingers as it had in the hospital garden. She allowed her right hand to drift to Delia’s waist. Their eyes were locked before Delia closed hers and shifted her neck and shoulders to that she could push her lips against the cool palm. Working entirely on instinct Delia guided Patsy’s hand to the spot just below her clavicle so that the tips of long elegant fingers brushed awkwardly against the collar of the pink Hartnell uniform. She opened her eyes again and found Patsy looking at her in wonder, her pupils were dark and large, framed by the blue-grey irises. The sight made Delia’s breath catch and she reached up her free hand, fingers on the strong jaw and steered Patsy’s lips to her own, gently moving her thumb to stroke the still cold cheek.

When the kiss was broken by Delia’s need for air and to recover her senses, Patsy’s lips chased hers, long, slim arms slipped around her back against the rough cotton of her uniform and she found herself pressed fiercely into another warm, deep kiss. Desire bolted through Delia like electricity and she felt her knees momentarily buckle as all the energy she had twisted tightly somewhere in her core. Overwhelmed, she pulled backwards from the door.

‘I don’t want to go.’ Patsy sounded stricken and Delia smiled broadly at her, her thumb still tracing tiny brush strokes onto the taller woman’s cheek. She leaned forward again and looked up at Patsy with clear blue eyes through her lashes.

‘I’ll be here in the morning. I promise.’


	35. Intrusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delia has to deal with an unexpected surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am brimming with ideas now so it's too hard to resist a few extra updates whilst I have a little more time. Still thrilled that people care and the comments and kudos really make a difference to the impetus to write.

The knocking at the door was insistent, but it was not followed as usual by the sight of Patsy Mount easing herself through the narrow gap she had created. Delia frowned. The knocking continued and Delia felt a flicker of irritation as she pushed back her bedclothes and felt the chill of the February morning claim the exposed skin of her hands and feet.

‘Good grief Pats, what’s got into you this morning?’ she muttered as she reached the door and wrenched it open. Her eyes widened as she registered who was rapping so insistently and she silently thanked God she hadn’t spoken louder. It was not Patsy.

‘Matron wishes you to report to her as soon as possible.’ Virginia’s tone was cut-glass cold. Clipped so that every hard consonant was palatal. She spat the next words as she leant closer and lowered her voice. ‘Perhaps she’s finally worked it out.’

‘Was that everything?’ said Delia, her words as cool as the corridor in which Virginia stood smirking. There was little time for an answer before Delia pushed her hands flat against the door from the inside and the door blocked out the self-satisfied leer on the other nurse’s face.

Delia’s heart hammered and she rested her palms fully against the door as she curled her toes into the thin pile of the carpet; urgently seeking a way to ground herself for a moment, to recover any sense of equilibrium.

‘Think Busby, be logical. It may be nothing.’

It was less than ten minutes before Delia was dressed in a smart skirt and blouse. She raised a tentative hand to the bun she had tried to create and hoped the stray hairs would not be noticed. A pair of ruined stockings discarded on the floor by the wardrobe, laddered beyond all possible use by Delia’s haste and sense of rising panic, were the only evidence that she had been in the room. She slipped out and closed the door, moving swiftly along the corridors to Matron’s closed door. She closed her eyes, raised a clenched fist and rapped on the wood.

‘Come in.’ Matron’s voice was strident and Delia winced before she even entered the room. Matron looked up from behind the desk. The friendly, if harried, demeanour from the previous evening was vanished. Indeed, the face that greeted Delia’s wary gaze looked furious.

‘Nurse Busby. It appears once again that you have a visitor.’

Delia’s brow furrowed. Despite her confusion she couldn’t help but release a small sigh of relief, the painful maelstrom of panic induced by Virginia’s words now passed. Matron looked at her sharply.

‘Is this visit not unexpected Nurse?’

Delia shook her head. She pursed her lips together and tried to make her face as impassive as possible before she replied.

‘I have no idea who you are talking about.’

‘About whom I am talking,’ corrected Matron with a pronounced tut. ‘Well, it appears your young man can’t keep away. Once was unfortunate but twice looks distinctly like taking advantage of my good nature. You know that you have thus far impressed me, you know that I think you have the makings of a splendid nurse. Yet you still have a reputation to maintain Nurse Busby and it is a reputation that impacts upon that of the London and its training school. If you are about to leave us to marry then do so, but do not presume upon my entertaining Mr Jones in this office, ever again. Do I make myself clear?’

Delia’s eyes widened, first in surprise and then in horror as Matron’s long speech continued. She found herself utterly speechless; words formed vaguely in the front of her mind but failed to reach her mouth and she opened and closed her lips in a futile gesture that only served to irritate the officious senior nurse yet further.

‘Please don’t yammer and stammer in front of me Nurse Busby. Do I make myself clear?’

‘Absolutely Matron. I am truly very sorry. It won’t happen again and I have absolutely no intention whatsoever of leaving the London.’ Delia spoke warmly and the matron’s face softened a little. ‘I really am sorry.’

Matron nodded curtly. Clearly she thought the interview at an end. Delia shuffled her feet awkwardly against the carpet and bit her lip. Matron’s eyes had fallen back to the sheaf of papers spread in a short fan on the desk.

‘Matron, can I ask?’ Delia heard the words squeezed and uncomfortable in the confines of the small office and swallowed hard. ‘Can I ask where Gareth is?’

‘I have no idea Nurse Busby. I presume he is outside. I told him that he was trespassing on my time and patience and that gentlemen callers were not welcome at the nursing accommodation. He was only shown in because he had the temerity to imply to the home sister who answered the door that we were already acquainted.’

Delia fought the desire to smile at Gareth’s guileless approach. She glanced towards the window and wondered if he had waited when she registered the rain hammering against the glass.

‘Oh, but it’s awful out there.’ The words and their dismayed tone escaped Delia before she had time to bite them back. Matron’s head snapped up once again.

‘Then I suggest you find him. Beyond the walls of this building. Good day Nurse Busby.’

‘Thank you, Matron,’ said Delia hurriedly and she escaped the claustrophobia of the office with its unassailable atmosphere of condemnation. As soon as she was in the corridor she half walked, half ran the short distance to the front entrance. Pulling open the large, forbidding front door she ran out into the bleak February rain.

Gareth stood dolefully by the bicycle racks that lined up on the left of the steps that led to the door, attempting to afford some shelter from the brick of the large, imposing building Delia called home. His shoulders were hunched inside a drenched great coat, its light green darkened by the incessant rain and great drops of water collected and dripped from the front of his cloth cap, pulled low and tight over his forehead. He didn’t notice Delia as she gazed wildly about her on the front step.

‘Gareth?’ The question was a relieved exclamation as she lighted on his familiar shape but the sense of a tension released vanished entirely when he raised his face and met Delia’s eyes. Several day’s stubble extended over his chin and face but even through the reddish hair Delia could see his features were pinched and drawn.

‘Delia.’ Gareth scrambled from his temporary, futile place of shelter and moved swiftly, bounding up the few steps to where Delia stood, she herself now entirely drenched. ‘It is so good to see you.’

Without warning Gareth extended his arms and Delia found herself enveloped in a tight, desperate embrace. Their wet clothes stuck together and Delia’s face was buried in the broad, strong chest that she associated so strongly with her previous life. Utterly lost as to the reasons for Gareth’s sudden arrival, the shocking state of his appearance or his desire for physical closeness Delia simply allowed herself to be hugged. She reached around the large back and pulled Gareth in towards her, sensing his need for comfort despite their lack of words. She did not hear the door open, failed to comprehend the sudden chatter of several nurses pouring through the door on their way to departments at The London where the front door was the quickest option. Realising, finally, that they were not alone Delia pulled back, Gareth was slow to respond and his arms remained clasped around her sodden clothes.

‘Goodness Delia, isn’t a little early for that kind of thing?’ asked Jane as she slipped past, a wide grin splitting her face. ‘Assuming of course that it is early for you and not late? Is this a hello or a goodbye?’

Delia’s whole complexion bloomed red. Jane gave a peal of joyous laughter and hurried on, followed by two other trainees in the set who were giggling like schoolgirls. Delia felt the rain stream down her flushed face and ran a flat palm over her forehead, past her eyes and beyond her nose and mouth. Gareth pulled back and looked down as Delia looked up and met his eyes.

‘What’s the matter Gareth? Why are you here?’

‘You haven’t seen her then?’ he asked, his voice tight with grief and disappointed hope. ‘I thought she might be here.’

‘Who?’ Delia searched his face, her heart clenched.

‘Gwen. She’s missing. Remember you said that we had to promise to always be there for each other? I thought she might have come here.’ Gareth’s words were low and muffled as he fought tears. ‘I don’t know what to do, Delia.’

‘Come with me,’ said Delia, taking his arm and steering him through the rain away from the nurses’ home, away from prying eyes and, she thought, with a second tightness clawing deep in her chest, away from the promise she had so earnestly made to another woman the previous evening. 


	36. Missing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delia hears news from home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long delay. I haven't forgotten DWF and am really keen to continue to tell the story of my Delia and Patsy and the early days of their relationship.

Delia was visibly shivering as she sat alone at a table in Brucciani’s staring dolefully out of the window as the rain ran in endless, grey rivulets down the glass as if it might wash away the bold, green lettering declaring the Italian name of the establishment. Gareth returned from the counter, his face still ashen, and sat down heavily in the chair across from Delia. He didn’t speak, gave a weak half smile.

‘Talk to me,’ said Delia, simply. Her eyes scanned Gareth’s face.

‘It’s a mess Delia. You’re well out of it here.’ Gareth looked round at the other patrons of the café, only a few tables occupied but the atmosphere a positive hum of chatter and laughter. Delia shook her head and her voice was earnest when it came.

‘I’m never fully out of it Gareth, what happens at home will always matter to me. But I didn’t even know Gwen was in any bother. I haven’t had a letter from either of you since the first week of February but I guessed things were busy – I thought you’d be still lambing and I supposed Gwen had Joe.’

‘Joe Taylor’s a bloody wastrel,’ muttered Gareth, his countenance darkening and Delia watched as he clenched his hands into balled fists where they lay resting on the table top before straightening them out again and looking Delia dead in the eyes before his resolve failed and he cast his gaze towards a knot in the wood of the table. ‘He’s got our Gwen in the family way.’

Delia felt suddenly sick. A great tidal wave of emotion washed over her and she struggled to stay afloat in the maelstrom of feelings that engulfed her. It was precisely what she had feared; it was tempered by a greater sense of relief that Gwen wasn’t hurt or in some sort of legal trouble but her thoughts swam and bobbed and she heard the rush of blood through her ears that swamped rational thought. She tried to speak, but nothing came.

She was suddenly aware of a figure stood over her and she glanced upwards, forced a smile for the waitress who gently placed a teapot between the two seated, silent companions and nudged delicate, floral patterned china teacups to each edge of the table. Desperate for something constructive to do Delia reached for the pot, picked it up by handle and spout and gave it a too violent swill so that a splash of boiling tea slopped from the tip of the spout and over her fingers. Defeated Delia sat back, sucked her burnt forefinger and closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them Gareth was staring at her in concern, the tired rims of his eyes etched with fresh worry. She found the forced smile again. Gareth gave a watery grin in response and poured the tea as Delia finally spoke.

‘How did she end up leaving home?’ Delia paused, awkwardly, as if unsure about continuing. ‘It’s not like it never happens, why can’t Joe just marry her?’

‘Because he’s an out and out bastard, isn’t it.’ The vehemence of Gareth’s blurted response in his unfamiliar sing song accent amongst the East End chatter brought a moment of stillness to the entire café and for the second time that day Delia felt the rush of shame flood her cheeks. Gareth winced, his shoulders sagging. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to shout.’

Delia felt her own fury rising and fought a losing battle with the volume of her own reply.

‘Are you telling me he won’t own it?’

‘He was down the Lobster Pot giving it all the big man, he’d had one over the eight and called our Gwen a few choice names, said he couldn’t be sure the baby was his.’ Gareth looked levelly at Delia. ‘My dad belted him one, right there in the bar, he was going in a second time when your dad pulled him off. I was still in the lambing shed or I’d have bloody killed him. He did a moonlight flit – just never turned up for the garage. And good job, else I reckon I might be looking at a stretch inside.’

‘How do we know Gwen isn’t with Joe?’ Delia asked. She felt a moment’s relief, a hope borne of the fact that whilst she loathed every beat of Joe Taylor’s cocky heart at least it would mean that Gwen wasn’t out there, pregnant and alone.

‘You didn’t see her after they’d parted ways Delia. She was broken. He said some unforgivable things to her.’ Gareth put his head in his hands, Delia watched his finger tips curl into the rich, ginger mop, so like his sister’s and felt a lump constrict her throat as Gareth ploughed on.‘Then three days later she just vanished, didn’t tell nobody. Mam went to get her up Monday morning and she was gone. My dad’s gone looking for Joe, just in case. I came here.’

‘Gareth, I can’t not work. I have to carry on with my training.’ There was a desperate vibrato in Delia’s voice. ‘But we will do everything we can to help.’

Gareth’s head snapped up, he looked across the table, spoke sharply.

‘What do you mean? We? You can’t tell anybody else about this Delia.’

‘I have to tell Patsy,’ said Delia, simply.

‘No! Delia, you don’t. This is private. What will she think? She doesn’t come into this. You’ve only known her five minutes, she’s not family.’ Gareth’s voice was like a stage whisper, his shame and his fury hissing across the narrow divide between them.

Delia rested her thumb and forefinger on the edge of the cup, the rest of her fingers splayed wide as if she was bracing herself.

‘Sorry Gareth but Patsy’s friendship is all in all to me here, I can’t keep this from her. She’ll know. She might not be family, but then, neither are you and look at us.’

‘It’s completely different and you know it. And you know I’d make you family in a heartbeat if you’d let me.’ Gareth’s voice was strained, he sounded utterly defeated. Delia reached across the table and took a huge calloused hand between both of hers. She stared at the contrast for a moment; her neat, clean nails and pink, well washed fingers wrapped around the long, fleshy digits with their wiry hair and rough-hewn nails, deeply ingrained with the everyday muck of farm life.

‘You trust me, don’t you? Let us help you.’

‘I don’t think I have a choice, do I?’ said Gareth, a little of the old warmth returning.

‘You never did, Jones, you never did.’ Delia’s smile was broad and genuine now, her dimples showing as she squeezed Gareth’s hand. ‘If she turns up at the nurses’ home how can I let you know? Where are you staying?’

Gareth looked away and withdrew his hand, raising it to his cheek and rubbing so that Delia heard the rasping of the unattended beard growth.

‘I slept on the bus on the way down, then last night I just walked around until a time I thought would be decent to call on you. I haven’t got much left. I spent pretty much the last of it on the tea. Taffy’s docked my wages for leaving at lambing and wouldn’t give me an advance.’

‘All this for Joe Taylor,’ muttered Delia, suddenly irritated with the entire situation. ‘You listen Gareth, we’ll go back to the nurse’s home. I’ll get you some money for a boarding house.’

‘I’ll stay until tomorrow. I need to go back for mam. I thought Gwen’d be here. If she isn’t then it’s back to the drawing board.’ Gareth’s voice cracked. ‘Thank you.’

When Delia heard the knock, soft and tentative, at her door eight hours later she reflected on how different she felt since the last time she assumed Patsy was at her door. Heavily she raised herself from the bed and noticed that the room had gone dark since she had slumped on her bed several hours earlier. As she padded to the door in her stockinged feet she paused to flick on the electric switch and was blinking against the assault of light when she pulled open the door.

‘Thank goodness,’ said Patsy, edging into the room, the hem of her uniform hanging just below the outdoor coat she was wearing. Delia didn’t speak, she grasped the lapels and pushed and pulled the fabric from Patsy’s shoulders, throwing the heavy garment at the high backed chair. Patsy raised her eyebrows in a wide arc, her lips twitching upwards at Delia’s urgency. ‘I was worried you’d run off and left me for a Welsh farmer given the gossip flying about the ward today, but it seems you’re actually rather pleased to see me.’

Delia’s eyes filled with tears and the levity in Patsy’s voice and face vanished. The tall nurse, her uniform slightly soiled from a day of birth and care of tiny babies, leant forward and wrapped her long fingers around Delia’s limp hands.

‘Delia? Deels? Tell me.’

‘I will,’ said Delia, exhaustion sounding in the two elongated vowels of the Pembroke accent. ‘But for now, just for now, can you just hold me.’

Delia found her cheek nestled against a warm body that smelt inescapably of new babies, Lux and that perennial undertone of disinfectant that Delia associated so firmly with Patsy. She snaked her arms around the other woman’s back and pulled tight; she felt palms, flat and warm stroking her back and the sheer feeling of relief and warmth resulted in a long, unbidden sob escaping from the back of her throat. Delia didn’t think there was any physical distance left between them but at the sound of the cry Patsy pushed one hand lower and drew their hips together. Delia crooked her head, burrowing into Patsy’s clavicle and closed her eyes feeling tears pool and run into the soft material of a lilac uniform.


	37. Always

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delia thinks her prayers have been answered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a shamefully long time. Sorry. I moved house. I went schlepping round Europe. But I still want to tell this story if people want to read it.

Patsy’s deep, throaty laugh was infectious and Delia found herself giggling helplessly, unable to speak until the tremors subsided. She looked up at Patsy’s profile, her defined jaw resting against the soft material of her scarf, as they walked beside one another back to the utilitarian block they now called home.

‘Thank you,’ said Delia, suddenly, shifting her stance so that her gloved hand brushed the back of Patsy’s long fingers and smiling as she felt a momentary twitch of a middle digit in response. They stepped away from one another as they rounded the corner onto Whitechapel Road and Patsy raised a hand to fiddle with her collar.

‘Whatever for Deels? What happened when you backed into that usherette had absolutely nothing to do with me!’ Mirth threatened to consume Patsy once again but she bit her lip and Delia smiled broadly at the sideways glance she felt rather than saw from Patsy, before becoming more sober.

‘I suppose, just for being you. I know I haven’t been the easiest of company this last week on the rare occasions we have been able to see one another. I haven’t been able to get Gwen out of my mind. Matron called me dolly daydream twice yesterday when I was laying out the bandage trays. This afternoon, sitting holding your hand in the dark, I felt content again. Thank you, it was like…’ Delia’s voice trailed to nothing and she froze in the street, her body rigid and her gaze fixed on a point ahead. Patsy was several steps ahead when she felt Delia’s absence and turned around.

‘Deels?’ asked Patsy softly, shifting her body so that she could follow the unblinking stare. On the steps of the nursing home, almost a charcoal shadow in the rapidly fading daylight, sat a tall, well-built woman. Vivid copper coloured hair spilled over her shoulders as she leant into the embrace she was giving to her own knees. The woman’s similarity to Gareth was unmistakable and when she spoke it was in perfect unison with Delia.

‘Gwen.’

Without any real consciousness of what she was doing Delia’s legs propelled her from her rigid position. She took the first two steps up to the front door at a bound and hauled the woman to a standing position by levering her hands under her elbows. Delia was conscious of a strangulated sob as she supported her friend’s weight, she felt a lifeless mass slumped into her shoulders and desperate hands claw at the material of her coat. Unable to find any purchase Gwen pulled Delia even closer and the breath left Delia in a sudden huff.

‘You know then?’ Gwen’s voice was flat. Monotone. ‘I take it Gareth’s seen you, been here?’

‘Oh Gwen!’ Delia breathed heavily into the tired material of Gwen’s coat. Emotion threatened to overwhelm her entirely.

‘Steady on old thing.’

Delia heard Patsy’s voice as if it was from a different place, a different age. She pulled away, but manoeuvred her arms so that her finger tips still gripped Gwen’s elbows, as if letting go might mean her friend ceased to be corporal. Delia searched Gwen’s face. It was a peculiar grey, the colour of distant seas. She turned her head to see Patsy’s face, her eyebrows twisted into concern, noticed the thumb flicking against the ring finger and knew she needed to regain some level of control and decorum, standing, as they were, in the middle of Whitechapel Road. Finally, Delia took a step back, edging left so that she was lower and closer to Patsy, letting her arms leave Gwen’s and return to her sides.

‘Patsy. This is Gwen.’ Delia’s voice was unnaturally low. She tuned back to Gwen and felt a lump constrict her throat as she realised again the extent of Gwen’s dreadful pallor. ‘Gwen. This is Patsy.’

Patsy reached out her right hand, gloved and elegant. Limply, as if it took everything out of her, Gwen extended her own, Delia saw the nails bitten to the quick and the chapped, reddened effect of a Welsh rural winter. 

‘It’s pleasure to meet you, Gwen, I have heard so much about you.’

Gwen gave a tight smile; Delia suspected she was grimly aware that what Patsy might have heard may not have been entirely to her advantage. Patsy shook the hand warmly and the three stood awkwardly. It was Patsy who broke the moment.

‘Right, well, it’s jolly cold out here, shall we think about trying to get Gwen inside Delia?’

‘Oh.’ Delia looked at Patsy and then at Gwen, without intention her eyes drifted to the buttons pulled tight across Gwen’s belly. The full force of the situation hit Delia and she furrowed her brow. ‘What are we going to do, there’s no way matron is going to let us in given the situation’ Her voice trailed away. She looked at the ground. Gwen huffed and muttered.

‘I am here Delia.’

Patsy stood taller, snapped into nurse-like efficiency. She focussed on Delia, waited until the smaller woman was looking at her. Delia felt the world swim back into focus.

‘Remember the back stairs from the courtyard? The ones Matron said get left open. Let’s give that a go. Your room is closest to that stairwell. Fingers crossed we don’t meet anybody. It’s getting jolly dark so perhaps we are in with a lucky shout. Deels?’

Delia nodded. She turned back to Gwen who was staring intently at Patsy, scrutinising her, weighing up the woman who apparently held so much sway over her oldest friend. Delia reached out and laid a hand in the small of Gwen’s back and guided her from the few steps in front of the nurses’ home.

‘It’s on the other side of the London, where the wards are,’ said Delia apologetically. Gwen shrugged.

‘I don’t care if it’s in Timbuctoo as long as I get a sit down and a brew.’ She sounded petulant and tired.

‘Of course.’ Delia said as brightly as she could muster. ‘Sorry.’

Delia watched as Patsy strode ahead and smiled at the set of her shoulders, the fierce determination in her gait. Gwen saw the smile and raised her eyebrows. Her voice was brittle when it emerged, harsh into the winter air.

‘I take it you’ve told her?’

‘I had to tell her. I had to talk to somebody. Gareth – he came to find you - he had to go home and I still had to go to work.’

‘God forbid anything would get in the way of your precious nursing,’ snapped Gwen. Then, as the hurt silence stretched, Gwen’s shoulders slumped. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean that. I just miss you. And then there’s this.’ She gestured hopelessly over her stretched clothes.

‘I know. I know.’ Delia stilled. She reached out and laid a hand on Gwen’s arm, hunched inside the overcoat she wore. ‘I’ll always be here for you.’

‘ I know that Busby.’ Gwen’s smile was forced, wreaked of grief. ‘Why do you think I came.’


End file.
